


Mist & Fire

by AETXL



Series: "Autumn Comes When You're Not Yet Done" [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Autumn, F/F, Give Elsa A Girlfriend (Disney), Halloween, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian, Not spooky, spoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AETXL/pseuds/AETXL
Summary: Elsa considers her fingers around her mug since looking into Honeymaren’s eyes keeps presenting a problem. “I would suspect so, yes. She was supposed to be here this week. Instead, here I am.”“Lucky me,” Honeymaren quietly offers, turning back toward the fire.---Anna ropes her sister into chaperoning a volunteer trip to the Smoky Mountains to do home repairs. Little did she know Elsa would have a reckoning with her own identity when she meets a woman working at the volunteer center.---Please note that this fic is a LOT less edited than my usual; it's here for funsiesTwo Parts | Part One is Spoopy (not spooky); Part Two will be funny, but not Spoopy
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Series: "Autumn Comes When You're Not Yet Done" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980286
Comments: 30
Kudos: 60





	1. Day One: Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Teen for language throughout, brief implied nudity  
> Promise this is "spoopy," not spooky.
> 
> Lil bit angsty, I think... To be fair, when I wrote Flinch I thought it was fluffy, so I'm trying to recalibrate my measurements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely loosely based on my own coming-out-to-myself story, which is much funnier and less wrought (or spoopy) than this version of the story.

^*^*^*^

**Day 1: Sunday**

Elsa yelps as she steers the van over a pothole, following behind Kristoff’s van as it turns off the interstate and onto a local road at the base of a mountain. Or a hill on a mountain. Their elevation has increased all day. Piled into the back of Elsa’s van, students have ignored their popping ears far better than she has. They have all been busy distracting each other with the hyper energy of finishing college midterms while crammed into twelve-seaters for two days. Now, they are all on edge, feisty. As the incline grows far more noticeable, Elsa’s jaw sets tight.

It occurs to her that the van could tumble down the mountain. Surely that could happen at any second. _How did I allow myself to be roped into this?_ Elsa asks herself.

^*^*^*^

_“You wouldn’t even have to do anything!” Anna shouts at her sister, Elsa, chasing her to the couch. She holds her phone close to her chest, likely bursting her boyfriend’s eardrums since he’s on speakerphone._

_Sitting demurely on her own couch beside her cat, Elsa lifts her blonde brow incredulously at her sister. As she unfolds her newspaper—yes, a print newspaper—and sips her coffee, Elsa asserts a simple, “No.”_

_Through the phone, Kristoff moans. “What are we going to do? The trip’s in a week! We can’t be down a chaperone, it’s part of the contract with the host service! And we can’t drive four vans with only THREE drivers!”_

_“It’ll be fine,” Anna snaps, kneels at her sister’s knees and demands her eye contact. “Because Elsa_ will _take my place leading the trip. She’s already had a background check done recently, and she can drive a car, so it’ll be an easy switch!”_

_“I said, no,” Elsa repeats. She lightly slaps the top of Anna’s red crown of hair with the newspaper._

_“Elsa!” Anna hisses. “If you don’t go, I_ will!”

_“No, you will not.” Elsa’s brow furrows deeply as she rolls her eyes and sets aside the news. “You are getting that root canal done.”_

_Anna stands, smiling deviously. “I will not if you do not take my place on Kristoff’s Alt-Fall Break thingie!”_

_“Alternative Break Volunteer Excursion,” comes Kristoff’s voice._

_Shrugging with disbelief, Elsa rebuts, “I’m not a student! Graduate or otherwise!”_

_Unfortunately, Anna’s thinking ahead. “Neither is Kristoff’s mom! And she’s going as a chaperone.”_

_“I am not retired, Anna.”_

_Buying time with a scoff, Anna says, “Bulda works! Having an Etsy shop at her age is definitely work!”_

_“I can’t just leave work for a week.”_

_“When was the last time you took a vacation?” Anna insists, tripping a little on her pajamas as she stands quickly. “You must have tons of time off saved up!”_

_“Wha—?”_

_“Come on!” Egging her on is one of Anna’s favorite past times. “Name the last time you took a day off—” Elsa mounts a response but Anna quickly cuts her off with a finger to her lips. “Lemme finish! A day off that was not a day when work was closed anyway.”_

_As the finger lifts from her mouth, Elsa fights the urge to bite at it. Instead of answering, she responds to Anna’s earlier claims._ _“It’s_ not _doing nothing. It’s what, a whole week of construction work?”_

_“I’ll be there!” Kristoff begs through the phone. Anna smugly holds it up at Elsa. “And there are experts stationed at the volunteer center.”_

_“And it’s for a good cause,” Anna adds. “You’ll help my lovely boyfriend who you adore—Kristoff, the sister you adore—and me, and people who need home repairs in the beautiful Smoky Mountains.” Jumping onto the couch beside Elsa, Anna finishes her off, shouting, “Answer the call of people in need, Elsa!”_

_Pursing her lips, Elsa knows she only has one answer. She blames not yet enjoying her cup of coffee for this. Every once in a long time, Anna wins their chess game._

^*^*^*^

She tries to maintain her patience as the college students shout and jump in their seats excitedly behind her. Elsa _needs_ to focus. The road narrows the further up they go, and the grey clouds above are getting closer. Two days she’s driven this giant brick on wheels full of “adults.” (Anna’s age and under barely counts as adults, Elsa has decided.) Not that Elsa’s many years older than her sister, but _apparently_ Anna is more mature for her age than she had previously given her credit for. _Seems like a safe assumption,_ Elsa thinks bitterly, sparing a glance at her hoodie and jeans, still feeling the sticky residue on them from the sodas that someone exploded within the van earlier today.

As the _kids_ start over the same five Justin Bieber songs on the auxiliary cord they’ve listened to all day— _I didn’t even know Justin Bieber was still popular,_ she thinks, her eye twitching—Elsa sees Kristoff’s van pull over the top of the hill then turn sharply down a dirt road. They must be close to the volunteer center!

_Anything, I will give anything to be out of this car_.

The wheels churn underneath them, protesting at the transition from pavement to dirt, but complying at last. Again they climb. As they reach the next and final summit, Elsa practically stands on the gas pedal, groaning along with the van as they at long last pull into a dirt parking lot beside an enormous lodge. Behind her, the van’s occupants erupt in cheers, startling Elsa again. Only then does she realize that the college students must have been nervous about the climb as well. Tyler even leans forward and shakes her shoulders.

Elsa takes a moment to breathe, notices the mist around them moving, letting in some blue sky. Once she parks and another two vans trail into the lot behind them, the doors open and the kids pile out. On another Sunday night, she might have been curled up with a book and her cat Gale, or hosting dinner with her sister and Kristoff, as well as the terrier she’d given Anna for her birthday a few years ago, Olaf.

Instead, she kicks her door open and stands on the edge of the van’s floor to look around. The college students group together, but the only other person Elsa knows here is Kristoff. Looking across the lot, she spots the mountain of a man with dirty blond hair with his tiny mother, Bulda, crossing the lot as three people approach from the volunteer center: A short woman with long grey hair, accompanied by a young man and a young woman, both with black hair, while all three have skin brown like gold.

Light shimmers through the air as the clouds move swiftly around them. Sunshine hits off Elsa’s platinum blonde hair and warms her up through the chilly autumn mist. With a hup, she jumps off the van, pulls out her one small bag, and walks toward Kristoff, crosses the lot to get away from the din of the students. Another cloud passes through them, making her shiver. She crosses her arms over her chest and sweeps some hair from her face, but what she sees as the cloud blows by stops her in her tracks.

While Kristoff and Bulda shake hands with the eldest of the three strangers, the younger two chat with each other. Underneath a paint-stained beanie, framed by black bangs and fringe, brown eyes so dark Elsa can practically see stars in them meet her own in a glance. Her throat goes dry.

It’s supposed to be the young man’s eyes that do something like this to Elsa, she knows. But his eyes are blue.

 _Holy sweet mother of fuck_ , Elsa whimpers internally. As those brown eyes glance once more at her, up and down at her, Elsa knows something she did not know before. Something she has insisted to others and herself alike simply could not be true. Something laughable.

 _Fuck,_ she thinks, speechless. _I’m—!_

Then Elsa catches something up ahead, the older woman’s voice: “What’s with Heidi Klum there?” Blushing, she looks up just in time to catch sight of Kristoff, Bulda, and all three strangers turning to stare at her, caught gawking at the poor woman ten feet from her.

“Uh,” Kristoff says, grimacing at first to Elsa, then his mother, then at last their hosts, he slaps on a smile. “This is Elsa. One of our chaperones.” His voice snaps Elsa out of her momentary trance. Although she knows he would defend her in an instant, she also sees Kristoff’s discomfort at feeling obliged to get big-and-mad toward a small elderly woman in front of his mother.

Stepping forward, Elsa adds, _“Not_ Heidi Klum.” Based on the sheepish looks from the three strangers, she decides her tone was appropriate.

“But you are _much_ lovelier!” Bulda tells her, kindly and quietly. Behind sweet, tiny Bulda, Elsa spots the younger woman elbowing the elder, muttering something, and passing an apologetic glance her way.

Deciding to take advantage of the glance, Elsa asks her, “Is there a shower I could use?” Then, to Kristoff she adds glumly, “Tyler decided to shake a bunch of sodas in the car earlier.”

When she turns back, the beautiful stranger blushes, opens her mouth, but the young man with her speaks first. “Up you go!” he says with an accent full of twang, pointing at the stairs behind them. “It’s the last door on your left if you walk down the whole porch.”

His cheer _should_ be contagious, comforting, even attractive. It’s not.

With a nod, Elsa utters a small thanks and walks toward the building, trying to wrap her mind around the newfound information about herself while appearing as calm and cheery as possible.

Nonetheless, when she reaches the assigned door, Elsa groans to find a giant communal women’s bathroom. It’s like going back into her middle school locker room—an absolute nightmare. Even if she’s the only one looking to freshen up right now, she already knows this simply will _not_ work each and every morning of this service trip. Then and there, Elsa decides to wake up half an hour earlier than everyone else so as to avoid sharing the locker room with others.

Middle school and high school locker rooms? Complete nightmares. Constantly walking around, trying very hard to not look at anyone else changing or showering for the sake of _their_ dignity? Even as all the other girls in her grade or sport acted like everything was fine.

Stripping and jumping cautiously under the most private showerhead in the room, Elsa wonders for a moment. Perhaps… everything _was_ fine… Maybe _she_ was simply _different_ from the other girls her age… Then and now.

 _What else is new?_ Elsa thinks grumpily, washing up as best she can. Since when isn’t she fucking different?

^*^*^*^

After changing into something less sticky and claiming a bunk in the ladies’ bedroom, Elsa returns to the lodge’s porch. There, the entire assortment of students, chaperones, and the two younger strangers from earlier sit in a chorus of rocking chairs, all circled up. Suddenly a few of them stand, then dash around the circle to each other’s seats while the circle laughs at the antics. Walking up to Kristoff’s chair, Elsa leans her elbow on it. When he looks up, she asks, “What’s all this?”

“Never have I ever! It’s an ice-breaker game!” responds a cheerful voice, the young man from before. He sits just two chairs over. “We’ll do one every morning. Want in?”

“Sounds like torture,” Elsa scoffs. Kristoff hides a chuckle.

“Have a little spirit, Elsa, join the fun!” Bulda encourages her from another few chairs down.

“Elsa…”

She looks up at the sound of her name, but when no one claims to have called for her, Elsa wonders if she imagined it. Instead she asks, “How’s this game work?”

“You say ‘never have I ever,’ then something you’ve never done before!” the strapping young man with blue eyes answers.

“Huh? No, Ryder, that’s not right. You say ‘never have I ever’ then something you _have_ done before,” Kristoff objects.

“No no, something you haven’t done, and everyone who _has_ done it has to stand up and trade seats.”

Shaking his head, Kristoff wags his finger at the stranger, saying, “No, it’s something you have done, and everyone who hasn’t done it has to stand and trade seats.”

Laughing and panting in his newly claimed chair, the student Tyler from Elsa’s van shouts at them, “Make up your minds! Ryder, Kristoff, you’re holding up the game!” Everyone laughs, even Elsa.

“Is this why everyone laughed when Honeymaren said something about shaving leg hair?” Kristoff asked.

Bulda giggles at her adopted son’s defense (and everyone else laughs outright), but Elsa asks him, “Who’s Honeymaren?”

“I am,” a silky voice replies… also with a twang. Elsa looks across the group to the night-sky eyes. She—Honeymaren—nods simply in greeting. Before Elsa can respond, before she can pull herself away from those eyes, someone in the circle shouts. The students started to play the game again, and suddenly two dozen people are up and running.

Except this Honeymaren. She remains seated, smirking across at Elsa through the din. Ryder, the young man, takes a chair next to her. “Hey, come on now! You definitely ‘never have I ever’ been born, Mare!” he says, punching Honeymaren’s shoulder.

Honeymaren slaps his hand away lightly, then stands up suddenly. “All well,” she says with a feigned sadness. “I guess I’m out!”

As she stands and walks away from the ice breaker, Elsa distantly hears Kristoff saying incredulously, “There aren’t ‘outs’ in ‘Never have I ever!’” Honeymaren ignores him, walks casually over to the edge of the porch, looking out over the hills, hollows, and ridges of the surrounding mountains. Turning over her shoulder, she meets Elsa’s eyes again and motions her over with a simple nod.

But Elsa flinches. Instead, she hugs herself and darts into the lodge. Finding herself in a mess hall, Elsa pulls out her cell phone, tries to find a signal so she can check in on Anna.


	2. Day Two: Monday

^*^*^*^

**Day 2: Monday**

“Coffee?”

_OH, oh shit!_ Elsa thinks, albeit in slow motion. As planned, she had gotten up earlier than everyone else so she could groom herself in privacy. However, she had _not_ expected the wake-up call for everyone else came at 5AM. Here she is at quarter past five in the morning, barely functional after forty-five minutes but clean and dressed. She doesn’t even have the energy to look up from the hand holding a mug of steaming caffeine out for her. “Yes,” Elsa finally replies.

Slowly her hands reach for the mug, but the offering hand remains unexpectedly in place. Elsa frowns as she watches her hands wrap around the mug _and_ another hand that holds the mug. “Um,” the voice begins again, “Cream or sugar?”

“I’d have that and ice under other circumstances,” Elsa mutters, pulling slightly. “This will do.” The other hand disappears, and she gulps down half the mug quickly. When she stops, savoring the awful flavor of burnt bean water masquerading as coffee, Elsa finally looks up. After a moment of delay, she startles, clutching the mug all the tighter.

Above her, Honeymaren smiles kindly, yet amused. “Good morning,” she says with a silky twang that could break the heart of Dolly Parton (or rather, Brandi Carlisle). “You looked like you needed some joe.”

“Mhmm!” Elsa hums, high pitched. An unconscious hand reaches to her hair, not yet braided because she rightly guessed that packing a blow-dryer would be useless at a volunteer lodge. “I did. I do. Thank you.” _And now I know why I like Brandi Carlisle’s music,_ she thinks absently.

There’s a pause. Elsa takes another sip. Then it occurs to her that Honeymaren just asked her something. Before she can ask her to repeat herself, though, the young woman sits down on a couch Elsa’s presently curled herself upon. “What’s your name?”

Taking another necessary sip of coffee, Elsa responds, “What’s yours?”

She laughs. “Honeymaren.”

_I knew that._ Nodding, embarrassed, she says, “Right, yes. I’m Elsa.”

“Elsa,” Honeymaren says, glancing upward thoughtfully. She smiles through full lips. “That’s lovely.”

All the more embarrassed, Elsa mutters, “Thank you.”

“You’re a little different from the usual volunteer,” adds Honeymaren as others trickle in, lining up for coffee and breakfast. Most of them sit at the cafeteria-style tables and benches, leaving Elsa and Honeymaren to the couches on the other side of the lodge’s main room.

“What do you mean?” Elsa asks, sitting up.

“Just that you’re different,” Honeymaren says with a shrug. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Pondering this comment, Elsa watches Honeymaren rise and get in line for food. She takes a little more time with her coffee, avoiding standing right behind the beautiful staff member for fear of… what, she’s uncertain.

^*^*^*^

While two vans follow Yelena’s car and Kristoff’s van follow Ryder’s SUV, Elsa—of _course_ —gets into the driver’s seat of her van full of students to follow Honeymaren’s truck. Because _of fucking course_ she’ll be stuck with her first conscious crush all week.

Driving the van down the very steep hill through the mist of the Smoky Mountains wracks Elsa’s nerves, wishing then and there that she was driving up the mountain instead, despite yesterday’s frights. The students in the back remain completely silent—either due to the early hour or absolute fear. Whichever it is, Elsa doesn’t care much. She’s actively learning about standing up in her seat to press on the brake. For a split second, she imagines sitting in the passenger seat of that truck in front of her, instead. Trucks seem safer than vans. Once they level out, Honeymaren picks up the pace. Elsa follows her out onto the highway, then hits the gas through the mist that characterizes the Smoky Mountains.

When they turn down off the highway, they still drive another twenty minutes through local roads, passing into a small valley with high ridges on either side. After lots of winding through trees and over doubtful bridges, Honeymaren’s truck pulls into a dirt driveway. Parking the van is a relief.

The house at the end of the dirt driveway, on the other hand, worries Elsa considerably. While students energetically pile out of their vehicle, Elsa steps out cautiously, brow drawn up at a concerned angle. With winter coming, surely someone couldn’t be living here safely… Windows are cracked, the stairs to the front porch and door look rotten, and the house’s siding is either unfinished or never was.

“It’s a fixer upper.”

Elsa gasps, jumps, making Honeymaren snort with laughter. For a moment, she almost doubles over, and her shining smile bewitches Elsa, making her forget the house and the students and the early hour. “Sorry!” she chokes out between snickers. When she stands up again, glancing through dark eyes and that rotten smirk at her, Elsa gulps.

“You better gulp,” Honeymaren teases, turning again to the house. “We’ve had volunteers working on this house all summer long, and y’all won’t be the last ones, I promise you that.” Students approach them, listening in with curiosity. Appropriately, Honeymaren raises her voice. “That’s right, y’all got a big job ahead of you. This week, we’re focusing on the bathroom. It’s got plumbing and electrical problems on top of everything else. That’s why I’m here. You all are going to focus on finishing the walls and floor!” More quietly, she adds, glancing at Elsa with a sheepish smile and feigning extreme caution, “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She sprints at the porch steps—a student jumps out of her way—and climbs them two at a time.

_No,_ Elsa realizes. _She’s skipping rotten boards._

After their guide knocks on the door (a couple separate times), an old woman bent with age answers. While she and Honeymaren exchange words, a tiny child with an oversized pink backpack steps up to the door. Elsa and the students turn when they hear a school bus pull up behind them. Turning back, Elsa watches the little girl hug the elderly woman’s knees and run for the bus. It all happens so quickly, her mind can hardly keep up when suddenly Honeymaren’s at her side again. “Hey,” she says quietly, “Come on in. Watch your step though.”

Elsa follows her back to the porch, pauses at the stairs. Over her shoulder, she hears tall, gangly Tyler whimper under his breath at the sight of the weak wood. “Watch your step,” she says simply.

Tyler repeats, “Watch your step!” over his shoulder as he follows Elsa up. Then the student behind him repeats it, and the student behind them, louder and louder, making fake losing-my-balance tones and movements, until eight students are standing on the weak porch, laughing. Elsa bristles and whips around at them.

“Hey! Enough! This is someone’s home, and we’re here to fix it!” she growls, silencing them. “As best we can,” she adds, wary of promising too much. Anna had been specific about not promising too much. With a huff she turns back around. And again, she gasps, finding herself face to face with a smirk.

“That’s right,” Honeymaren says with a nod. “Let’s all take a look inside at the bathroom.” One by one they file inside. Elsa looks to the side as she enters. The old woman sits in a worn recliner, watching television, ignoring the tour entering her house. After only a few more steps, she turns to her other side, sees the bathroom over Honeymaren’s shoulder—and walks into Honeymaren’s back.

“Oof!”

“Sorry!” Honeymaren groans, reaching to steady Elsa. She leans her head into her hands, staring at the bathroom with a look of exasperated disbelief. Sighing when she spots Elsa watching her face, she explains quietly, “The last group that did work here had less supervision. We can’t all be with every volunteer sub-group at once.”

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asks, glancing back at the confused faces of her students lined up behind her. They can clearly see Honeymaren’s frustration but can’t hear her.

“This,” Honeymaren says, stepping into the bathroom. The drywall is unfinished, certainly, but Honeymaren points out that its several sections that barely fill in the spaces of the walls. It looks more like random chunks shoved into place than precisely cut pieces. Groaning quietly, Honeymaren confides, “Drywall should look like walls, not shit stacked rocks of plaster. These walls have to be redone.” Underfoot, there’s unfinished floor. A toilet’s installed, recently by the looks of things. And a space stands empty with barely covered pipes where, presumably, a shower will be added. Hopefully a sink as well. Meanwhile, the ceiling remains unfinished as well, a few wires holding up a simple light bulb.

“We’re here to work,” Elsa says. Behind her, she hears Tyler grunt in agreement, nodding. She steps back, reaches for the crook of Honeymaren’s elbow and pulls her backward, into the kitchen, allowing the students to look into the bathroom. “So let’s get to work.”

^*^*^*^

After eight hours, a few scrapes, and one student—Jenna, an art student—accidentally getting her foot caught in a hole in the porch, the team limps back to the van. Elsa opens her door to the vehicle, already dreading the drive, when she notices Honeymaren frozen with her truck’s driver’s side door open, too. She looks up the valley, around the bend in the road. When Honeymaren finally turns back, she catches Elsa watching. Covered in drywall dust and dirt, Elsa blushes. Honeymaren shouts to her, “Don’t ever make a wrong turn from here. Holler’ folk tend to kill strangers.”

^*^*^*^

“What did that mean, what you said back at the house?” Elsa asks Honeymaren out on the porch by the firepit. Honeymaren glances Elsa’s way, her dark eyes perfectly reflecting the spire of flame in front of her. Self-conscious under that fiery gaze, Elsa fiddles with her blonde braid.

Honeymaren tilts her head, asks, “About holler’ folk?”

Elsa nods. She steps closer to Honeymaren’s bench.

“Well a holler is spelled, h-o-l-l-o-w. We just pronounce it different.”

“No,” Elsa says, shaking her head a little. “I meant—”

“You meant about the murder.”

Anxious nodding speaks for Elsa. That anxiety builds as Honeymaren nods Elsa over to a seat by the firepit. Nonetheless, she obeys the wordless command, entirely aware and afraid of her lack of control.

Once she sits, Honeymaren tells her with a wink, “It’s easy to hide bodies up here.” She turns to her gaze to the fire, pausing, and Honeymaren’s smirk slowly departs. Her voice, still silken with twang but suddenly bitter, continues at last. “No government’s ever taken care of people here. No church either. No body, not even the dead. People out here are too poor to help each other. So, when strangers show up, most folks are suspicious. They’re afraid. Sometimes they’re resentful. Our program’s worked hard to build trust around this region, but we got our enemies, too.”

Feeling silly, Elsa pulls her knees up to her chest, says quietly, “That sounds hard.”

Chuckling, Honeymaren nods. “It is.”

Despite knowing literally nothing about Honeymaren—scratch that, maybe one thing about her: smirk champion—Elsa can’t help a heartfelt urge: _I don’t want things to be hard for you._

“Everybody to the firepit!” shouts Ryder behind them, bursting through the lodge doors and followed closely by a couple dozen others. Elsa and Honeymaren both gasp in surprise. They’re surrounded by others pulling up rocking chairs and squeezing together on benches, until their hips are shoved together with Ryder on Honeymaren’s opposite side and students—Tyler and Jenna—on Elsa’s, leaving Kristoff seeking out a chair.

“Time for a scary story.”

Elsa looks across to the fire’s other side, where Yelena stands. She leans heavily against a walking stick and watches the fire darkly.

Beside her, Honeymaren leans back against the bench, crosses her arms, smirks at her boss. With a glance Elsa’s way, she arches her brow. “Don’t you worry, _my_ story would have been much scarier.” On Elsa’s other side, Tyler and Jenna ‘ooo’ with curiosity, but Yelena grumbles at them until their eyes are forward.

“There’s one house our organization will never do repairs on, because it is cursed,” the elderly woman begins. “It is very, very old, and not properly attached to any road anyway, but it is so decrepit that the country has asked us time and time again to fix it up. It’s the oldest house for a hundred miles, and it could make a nice mansion for some secretary of hoo-hah in theory. But in our early days, I learned just how cursed that God-forsaken house is.”

As the students, Kristoff, and Bulda lean forward, Elsa leans back. She unconsciously leans into Honeymaren; Elsa never had been a fan of scary stories, even those she anticipates won’t be ‘that bad.’ The world turns out to be quite scary all on its own.

“Even before the house was built, bad things happened on that land,” Yelena continues. “A married couple from our people lived there first, hundreds of years ago, but when white men arrived in the western hemisphere, small pox spread across the land with ferocity. The couple survived the mysterious pox that preceded Europeans, but their newborn child died in pain. So, long before having ever met a white man, the native people cursed the spot with their hatred for the merciless killer of their child.

“Then, after many years and much bloodshed, there came the couple who built that house. They _too_ had a child. On the child’s first night in his own crib, he slept the whole night through without crying. Anyone who has had a child _knows_ how unusual that is.” Yelena looks round the circle, and the women who make up the majority of Yelena’s crowd chuckle nervously. Nodding solemnly, Yelena continues, “That morning when the couple awoke, they found their baby was dead in his crib!”

The group gasps, except (Elsa notices) Ryder and Honeymaren. _They_ exchange devious glances.

“But the child was not dead of a pox,” Yelena says. “Indeed, he had lots of red spots covering his entire body, but small pox takes far more time than a single night to kill a human being. And no one could have passed a pox to him! No doctor nor healer could answer what killed the baby, nor what the red spots were. The couple abandoned the beautiful house they built.” Yelena pauses dramatically, then leans into the firelight. “Again and again, a family would move into the house, only for their first child to die in the night, covered in red spots.”

“This is terrifying,” Tyler whispers. “That’s a _weird_ pandemic!”

“It’s fine, it’s no big deal, just lots of dead babies!” Jenna responds, none too convincing.

“Dead babies!” Tyler croaks.

Meanwhile, Elsa remains silent. Unlike the two students who lean forward, she leans further and further back away from Yelena and the fire. Until the back of her neck hits something warm behind her. Although she whips her face around, there’s a sudden movement behind Elsa, and she turns back round quickly to spot Honeymaren retracting her arm. They blink awkwardly at each other.

“Oh, uh, sorry?” Elsa mumbles.

Honeymaren shrugs, rolls her offending shoulder. “Don’t mind me, just stretching.”

However, Yelena’s story hasn’t finished. “The house became too decrepit to sell. No real estate agent would even try to sell the house. County stopped upkeep of the road. At last, it became nothing but a dare for rowdy teenagers to give each other: Stay a whole night in the house, and you win…” She pauses, looks to Ryder and Honeymaren. “What do kids even like these days?”

Everyone laughs, but Elsa notices the named staff don’t, only smirking. Once everyone hushes, the story continues.

“Eventually,” Yelena says, her eyes glazing over and her look somewhat pained, “a fool of a mayor offered a reward. Surely if someone could spend a whole night in the house, then it could be refurbished, or at least the land could be sold and developed and taxed. So…”

Jenna and Tyler all but cling to Elsa’s side, as if she were their mother and not a mere three years older than them. A blip of a thought crosses her mind: _How exactly had Anna planned to be a chaperone to students her own age?_ But Yelena’s next words attract all of Elsa’s attention.

“As a veteran fresh off of deployment, I volunteered.”

“Nooooo,” whispers Elsa.

Even more quietly, Honeymaren whispers back, “Oh yes!”

Yelena stands as tall as she can for such a tiny woman. “At that point this program was young, and the mayor taunted me for not tackling the house as a project. But we fix houses where people actually live. And unlike him, I did three tours abroad ‘cause it was the only way I could get a college degree.”

Ryder and Honeymaren snicker, they look like they’re about to say something but a look from the storyteller silences them. She glares around the circle before continuing. “I packed up my gear and set up camp inside the house. Everything was quiet until midnight.”

This time, Elsa doesn’t question the warmth around her shoulder. She curls herself up tighter and tighter, and any force aiding in that pursuit does not bother her—even if that force is a stranger’s arm wrapping protectively around her.

“What happened at midnight?” squeaks Kristoff.

Yelena grins darkly. “I heard a bump in the night.”

“No!” Jenna whimpers, along with several other frightened students in the circle. “No no noooo!”

“Yes!” Yelena shouts, triumphant. But as if a crack crosses the façade of her confidence, she winces, quietly saying, “I awoke immediately, of course, but no shotgun nor knife was gonna help me. Of course, I didn’t know that yet. I woke to the sound, raised my firearm—"

“Ahem!” Ryder says loudly. Yelena turns a frustrated glare to him. With an elaborate spin of his arm, he says, “Fire-ARM?”

Rolling her eyes, Yelena says, “Fine. Several guns. I was recently ex-military. And—”

“And knives!”

“I’ll have as many knives as I like,” Yelena rebukes him. “I proceeded to check every room of the house,” she says, continuing her story. “Until… I reached the old nursery.”

“Nope!” Kristoff shouts, immediately met by a crowd of shushing. Defensively, he repeats himself, “But no! Dead babies!”

“Shush!” Bulda tells him.

“Dead babies!”

“When I opened the door,” Yelena husks. “I saw a coffin. Now I had explored the whole house top to bottom before I set up camp for the night. There was no coffin in that room when I first checked. Yet before my very eyes, a small, babe-sized coffin lay. I ran out the room, decided to find the furthest spot from that horrid room in the house. That’s when I heard the sliding, scraping sound of wood against wood.”

Blinking rapidly, Elsa’s brow furrows. She knows this isn’t real and _cannot_ be true, and everyone around her surely knows this too, yet they all listen, rapt, clinging to Yelena’s every word. Only now does she recognize the arm round her shoulder, a gentle palm rubbing reassurances through her sweater. Heat climbs to Elsa’s skin and her stomach churns, making her wonder if she might need to run before their dinner of cafeteria chili makes an unpleasant return. However, if she runs, the students might think she _believes_ this scary story. Furthermore, Elsa tends to freeze when surprised or frightened, and she can’t seem to move herself from Honeymaren’s side at all. And, though her stomach churns, she can’t say for certain it’s with nausea.

“I was running out of options!” Yelena explains. “Finally, I ran to the master bedroom, but I could hear the scraping sound close behind. As I shut the door, I saw the baby’s coffin slide across the hallway toward me. With all the foolishness of youth like yours, I shot bullets at the horrid thing. Despite shooting up the decaying house, which…” Yelena rubs the back of her neck. “It wasn’t my wisest choice. Anyway—the rotting door to the bedroom fell apart before my very eyes and again I saw it—only now, the coffin was _open!_ And inside, I could see hundreds of nails, pointing inward.”

_This isn’t real, this cannot be real,_ Elsa keeps reminding herself, shrinking nonetheless against Honeymaren’s ribs because _Yelena_ sure looks like she’s remembering something terrifying.

“I ran blindly into the bathroom, too tiny to mount a defense. I watched as the coffin approached. This was how the babies had died, covered in red spots! I shot my gun—no effect. I threw every knife on me—nothing! Desperate, I slammed the door closed and locked it. Even then, the coffin burst through the rotten wood of the door. I opened the shelves, desperate, but I saw the answer!” Yelena smirks. “I grabbed the Vick’s Vaporub and said, ‘Vicks will stop that coughin’!”

As Yelena grins like a fool at her own pun, and the many students and chaperones groan, a sudden screech met their ears, abruptly shutting their mouths. Even Elsa jumps. While the elder looks round the circle, she ominously wishes them all a good night. Everyone bolts for their bunks, save Elsa and the two younger employees. _Freezing might not be the best survival option_ , she thinks distantly. Standing up at last, Elsa feels an elbow gently tap her side.

Honeymaren whispers to Elsa, “It’s just an elk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elk sounds are SCARY okay?!


	3. Day Three: Tuesday

^*^*^*^

**Day 3: Tuesday**

The next morning, the soft fabric of Elsa’s hoodie meets her skin at the exact moment that the first students enter the ladies’ washroom. Clothed and ready to go before anybody else comes in—exactly as planned—she walks out the door to the porch and shivers in the early morning fog. Why they only have a porch and no kind of indoor hallway between rooms is confounding, but complaining doesn’t seem worth the trouble. Instead, Elsa zips up her hoodie and walks briskly to the main room that serves as a lounge space and cafeteria. There she finds the fellow named Ryder, hitting the brew button on the coffee maker while Bulda and some students assemble for breakfast.

“Hey! Good morning, how are you?” Ryder asks Elsa cheerfully. She crosses her arms over her chest as she stands beside him, taking place in line for caffeine. A part of her is grateful that Kristoff’s group has paired with Ryder instead of her own group. As wonderful as he seems, the amount of pep in his step so early in the morning already seems like _too much_ for Elsa.

“Fine, thank you,” she says, then remembers to say, “Good morning.” Then several seconds later, Elsa adds, “Um, how are you?”

“Great!” Ryder responds with too much energy. “Went for a run earlier to get my blood pumping, ready to get some work done.”

Elsa balks, turning to look up at Ryder’s face. “You _run_ up here?”

“Oh yeah, we grew up in this mountain air. It’s not so bad if you’re used to it.”

The coffee starts to drip into its carafe slowly. Elsa asks, “By ‘we,’ you mean you and…?”

“My sister, Honeymaren,” Ryder answers as they both turn their attention to the machine before them. “How was y’all’s site yesterday?”

Shrugging, Elsa says, “Apparently dry wall was put in wrong before, so we spent most of the day pulling it out.”

“Oof! That is tough,” Ryder says. As the coffee stops dripping, he grabs the carafe and fills a mug, handing it to Elsa.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Ladies first!” he continues, pouring himself a cup next. With a shrug, he leads Elsa over to the line for breakfast. “But I meant more, how was your team?”

“My team?” Elsa asks, stopping short of taking a sip. Ryder hands her a plate and starts filling up his own.

“You know,” he says, grinning oddly. “You, students, and like _all_ the people at the site.” His eyes widen rather intensely, like he’s studying her.

“Fine, I suppose,” Elsa answers, hiding behind her own mug as best she can. “The resident didn’t speak to us much. The students all got along, though I’m not sure how we’ll all fit in that bathroom to work on it today.”

“Uh huh, uh huh.” Ryder nods, but he looks unsatisfied. “And you, ah, you like it?”

_Something_ , Elsa thinks vaguely, _is going on…_ Unable to put a finger on it, she takes a few hearty gulps of coffee, hoping that it will enliven her more quickly. Clearly, she’s missing whatever the _something_ is. “I don’t see how there’s much to enjoy about seeing the suffering of others.”

“True!” Ryder says, sounding surprised, and dropping a serving spoon directly into the pan of scrambled eggs he’s trying to serve himself. “Of course, of course. I uh, just meant I hope youenjoyed the company of others and helping people!” He pauses, chewing his cheek. “Would you like some eggs?”

A large spoonful of said eggs, held out by Ryder, floats above Elsa’s plate. She shrugs, nods, and thanks him for the odd offering that she could have served herself. Dismissing it as a ‘ladies first’ thing, she continues down the buffet line with Ryder, accepting what he offers. Slowly, she comes up with a guess about his point. Since Ryder accompanied Kristoff’s group yesterday, she supposes Kristoff worried aloud about her happiness as a last-minute substitute. That sounds like Kristoff. “I take it Kristoff mentioned that I am a late addition to the trip?”

“You were? I mean, yes!” Ryder says. When they’re two pans from the end of the line, he asks quietly, “So um… what’s the scene like where you’re from?”

“The scene?” Elsa asks, genuinely confused.

“Yeah, is it pretty welcoming?”

Again, Elsa shrugs, unsure of what he could be referring to with regards to where they had traveled from. “I suppose so.”

“Cool!” he says, too enthusiastically. “I’m happy for you, here it can be hard sometimes. I’m glad you get to be all of who you are.”

She’s already out of coffee, and Elsa wonders if she needs more, because whatever Ryder’s talking about, she doesn’t know get it. “Uh huh,” she agrees simply, hesitant to come out and name her ignorance.

“So then,” he starts, not moving away from the line even though they both have full plates. “Is there a special lady in your life?”

“A what?!” she squeaks, shocked and confused, nearly drops her plate.

“A special lady…?” Ryder’s face falls, seeing her reaction. Before Elsa can cobble together a response or ask his meaning, he grunts and winces, tugs at the neck of his sweater nervously. “Oh, I’m so sorry, uh, sorry! I’m gonna, I didn’t mean to, sorry!” And without further ado, he marches away. Elsa watches him go and sit across from his sister and hide his face in his hands. She herself remains frozen to the spot, blushing wildly as she catches Honeymaren pepper Ryder with questions she can’t hear, until someone pokes her back.

Turning, she sees Yelena. “Come on, Britney Spears,” she says, “I gotta eat before those kids of mine start up another of their ‘ice breakers.’”

Jumping out of the way, Elsa mutters, “I’m sorry.” She quickly shuffles over to a table to eat, but instead she just stares at the plate before her until, again, she startles when Kristoff sits next to her.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, holding up his hands as he sits down, slowly. “Easy, you okay?”

“Um, yes. I’m fine.” Without further ado, Elsa stabs a chunk of eggs with her fork. When she moves to take a bite, said eggs split in two and fall, bouncing upon the plate and table. Her face scrunches up in frustration.

“You sure you’re fine?” Kristoff mutters, low enough that only Elsa will hear him.

She huffs, glancing at his messy mop of dirty blonde hair sticking out of his black beanie. Distantly, it reminds her to braid her hair once it’s dry. And put a hat on, because yesterday proved chilly, even inside the house her team worked on. “Did you… say anything to Ryder about me yesterday?”

Kristoff looks from her to Ryder at the other side of the room, face blank. He shakes his head and shrugs a little. “Can’t say I did, no. Why?”

Again, Elsa turns to her plate, lips pinched but shaking her head, too. So much for her theory; Ryder’s just… weird. “It’s nothing. He just said something peculiar to me just now.”

“Something rude?” She glances up, catches sight of surprise and the beginnings of indignation on Kristoff’s face, and Elsa can’t help but feel a little warmth for her sister’s boyfriend. Most of her life experience leads her to think none too highly of men, generally. This one Anna found, however, seems more than decent.

With the softest hint of a chuckle, she answers, “No, not rude, not intentionally. Just peculiar.”

Settling back against his seat, Kristoff says, “Okay.” Then, he glances through Elsa suddenly, across space behind her, making her turn to look over her shoulder and then the other. Spotting nothing beyond the general throng of sleepy students and ‘real’ adults,’ she turns back to Kristoff, her unsaid question clear upon her face. He simply nods upward, motioning his chin just beside her elbow. She follows the motion and finds her empty mug of coffee refilled. Picking it up curiously, Elsa turns once again to Kristoff, and again he directs her with a nod.

When she turns, Elsa spots Honeymaren circling the tables, coffee carafe in hand. Catching each other’s glance, Honeymaren sheepishly grins and waves her way.

Before long, the staff invite their volunteers to clear their plates and join in today’s ‘ice breaker,’ learning a ‘mountain song,’ and Elsa forces herself to shovel food into her mouth before the start of a long day of work.

^*^*^*^

As predicted, Elsa’s team of volunteers cannot all fit inside the bathroom, so they split up. Elsa and Jenna take detailed measurements for freshly cut sheets of drywall, which Jenna then takes to Tyler to cut out and stack for later installation. Meanwhile, Honeymaren shows two boys how to use a caulking gun and are thus tasked with finding sealable fissures in the floors and walls in the house. (There are, the boys report, so many.) The final four girls tackle cleaning up the yard outside, a sizable task given the amount of rusted metal car parts and other such detritus hidden under fallen autumn leaves and overgrown weeds hidden below everything else. And, as before, the old woman whose home they’re in watches television. Except for quiet, short conversations with Honeymaren, she remains silent.

Honeymaren coughs at the drywall dust as she tackles the major task of the day—installing a sink.

“You okay?” Elsa asks, waiting as Jenna takes her time reporting the measurements for another section of drywall to Tyler.

“I’m good, thanks,” Honeymaren answers after a moment. She gets off her knees with a groan, sits on her haunches. Elsa bites her lip, allows herself a meandering gaze along the curve of her back to her butt, back up her torso and across her shoulders. For a long time, with her general disinterest in men established, Elsa assumed her glances at women came from her envy, her desire to look _like_ them. _I’m such a fool_ , Elsa thinks bitterly of herself. Yelena’s repeated quips and nicknames in her direction suggest she has no business comparing herself to other women to begin with. Anna would surely agree. And looking at Honeymaren does _not_ make her want to _be_ her… It makes her want to… treat her with every kindness and affection she has available. Indeed, she feels awake in a completely new, raw way as Honeymaren guzzles liquid from her water bottle and wipes her face on her sleeve.

And it _sucks_.

“Hey, um,” Honeymaren starts, that sheepish grin returning from this morning. Elsa averts her gaze even as she feels Honeymaren’s on her. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Elsa says quietly, pretending to look back over her measurement notes.

“About my brother, Ryder,” Honeymaren says. She stands, shoves her hands in her pockets, leans against wooden frame. Elsa watches her with a sideways glance. “I don’t know what he said exactly, he was just kinda blubbering nonsense, but…” Honeymaren crosses her arms over her chest, tucking her hands under her armpits, chews on some words. A tiny part of Elsa hopes for some kind of hint, some confirmation of a returned desire. Finally, Honeymaren finishes, “He has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth. Especially around women.”

Elsa’s hopes are dashed as Honeymaren’s eyes at last meet her own—she doesn’t want that, she couldn’t want _her_. Eye contact with this woman terrifies Elsa, leaves her breathless, falling into starlight, surely a place as dangerous as space itself. Unable to look away, however, she nods simply, swallowing her raw feelings.

“He knows nothing about women!” Honeymaren chuckles nervously, gesturing, breaking the eye contact and unfreezing Elsa from the spot. Rubbing the back of her neck, she mutters further, “Literally nothing, you’d think he’d’ve learned _something_ by now.”

“From, um…” Elsa mumbles, struggling to think much less make conversation, “trying to pick up volunteers?”

Honeymaren gasps, eyes wide and reddening. “Oh no!” she grimaces, reaching a hand out in urgent reassurance. Then she pulls back from Elsa like she touched a hot stove. She groans, visibly disgusted. “God, he really fucked up! There’s no way he was _trying_ to hit on you, but-but that’s not the point. How he made you feel is, and that’s clearly _not good!_ I’m so sorry he made you feel like that! He should never have done that!”

“I, um… okay. I mean, I’m okay.”

“He’s not—I mean, that is—” Honeymaren squeaks around whatever topic she’s trying to discuss, and with her accent it’s quite cute. Distracted, Elsa sighs, smiles a little. “Um, I, goddamn. I am so sorry he offended you in any way. I promise to beat his ass tonight.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Elsa says softly. “He didn’t offend me too much, he just confused me.”

Under her breath, Elsa catches Honeymaren mumbling, “That makes two of us.” Luckily, Jenna at last returns to the bathroom, and they all return to their tasks.

^*^*^*^

Cold mountain air fills Elsa’s nostrils despite her proximity to the firepit, alight again after dinner tonight. She sits alone, needs some space while the others, likely deterred by the chill, choose to play board games and charades inside the lodge. Her thumb glances across the surface of her phone. It connects to the volunteer lodge’s wifi—restricted to staff and chaperones—and the temptation to reach out to Anna intensifies with each passing hour. At this point, she knows that her sister’s dental work is complete, successful, went off without a hitch, and (after the drugs wore off) was the worst thing ever. (“Yes,” Anna had assured her, “worse than that 48-hour engagement.”) Really, checking in on Anna was all Elsa had planned to use her phone for, but now…

Still, Elsa doesn’t text or call. Not because she’s supposed to purposely disconnect this week like the others, and not because she doesn’t _want_ Anna to know what Elsa’s reckoning with… But how do you explain to anybody that you’re gay and you only figured it out at twenty-four?

A door behind her opens, electric light flooding the porch around Elsa. She turns, sees Kristoff. “Hey, you good out here?”

“Mhmm,” she nods. “Just need a little quiet.”

He smiles gently, well aware of her introverted tendencies. But there’s something about his eyes, how he looks at her, something peculiar. “Do you want any tea or hot chocolate? Nothing fancy, they’ve got the powdered kind.”

She hums, nods. “I’d take chocolate. Thank you.”

“Happy to,” he responds with a wave, returning indoors. Elsa lets her mind wander, pocketing her phone and burrowing into her blanket more while staring off into the fire. The next time the door opens, she doesn’t look up. Not until a voice above her catches her attention.

“Heard you like hot chocolate?”

Elsa contains a gasp, turning to see Honeymaren leaning over the back of her bench. Two mugs of cocoa catch Elsa’s eye, and she accepts the one Honeymaren holds out closest to her. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Honeymaren nods, walks round the bench and sits down on the other end of it. She groans as she does.

“Tired?”

“Always,” Honeymaren admits. After a minute or two of sipping in silence, she inquires, “What do you do when you’re not spending a week in the mountains?”

“I’m an executive assistant,” Elsa says with barely veiled disinterest. Still, Honeymaren nods.

However, over another sip of hot chocolate, she asks Elsa, “And what’s that mean exactly?”

“I guess,” Elsa sighs. “I’m a fancy secretary.”

“Hmm,” Honeymaren nods again. “Sounds riveting,” she adds with a smirk.

Smiling and rolling her eyes at herself, Elsa asks in turn, “Is it that obvious I’m not interested?” Honeymaren snickers in response. “It pays bills for me to live on and to support my little sister, that’s what matters.”

“Kristoff mentioned something about that. You two are not yet related by law?”

“No,” Elsa answers, her curiosity piqued. “In fact, I do not believe he’s disclosed any interest of that sort to me. Yet.”

“You suspect though, don’t you?” Honeymaren smirks again, conspiratorially. “Because I sure do and I barely know him. Don’t know your sister at all, either.”

Shy but smiling, Elsa considers her fingers around her mug since looking into Honeymaren’s eyes keeps presenting a problem. “I would suspect so, yes. She was supposed to be here this week. Instead, here I am.”

“Lucky me,” Honeymaren quietly offers, turning back toward the fire. “Why isn’t she here?”

“Dentistry.”

“Oh, that’s a scary story right there.”

“In one word?”

Honeymaren nods with playful seriousness. “But I can do you one better.”

“What, a one-word scary story?”

“Scarier than Yelena’s story last night,” Honeymaren says, upping her own stakes.

“That story wasn’t very scary.”

“You had me fooled.”

That is a challenge Elsa cannot resist. She glances over, suspicious, a smile prodding at the corners of her lips. “I was cold.”

“Liar.”

Thank God this woman skipped small talk. “I am no such thing.”

“Everybody lies,” Honeymaren says. “You want your scary story or not?”

Crossing her arms, Elsa nods slightly, already certain of her success.

After a beat, brown-eyed Honeymaren simply says, “Fleas.”

Immediately, Elsa’s face drops. “Excuse me?” When Honeymaren only smirks again in response, she follows up with another question. “Not here, right?”

“No, never!” Honeymaren assures her. “I win. Scared you.”

_Shit_. Elsa admits, “You do win.”

“That’s the real reason we don’t work on that house in the story,” Honeymaren says as Elsa breathes a sigh of relief. “Probably what’s behind the dead babies, too.”

“Wait, that part was true?” Elsa asks, breathless again.

Instead of answering, Honeymaren changes the subject. “What would you rather be doing in life? Besides being an executive assistant?” She asks while looking at the fire. Something about the question feels personal as she asks, giving Elsa pause.

Considering the answer, she deflects. “It doesn’t matter. Anna and my parents passed when I was eighteen. Everything I do now is to keep us together.”

Unexpectedly, Honeymaren remains silent. After the jovial exchange, it seems uncharacteristic, even uncomfortable. Elsa squirms internally, wonders if she should chug her cocoa and go to bed. Just as she’s about to do so, a poker disturbs the sputtering fire. On her feet, Honeymaren tosses a log into it, and sure enough the flames lick enthusiastically at the meal. When Elsa looks Honeymaren’s way again, her round face is already facing her. She looks away from her eyes to her full, brown lips—a little chapped.

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?” Elsa asks, defensive.

“I know,” she explains, a smile in her eyes at least, “Because I want to go back to school, too.”

_How did she know that?_ Elsa wonders, speechless, despite the fact that Honeymaren literally just told her. She watches Honeymaren sit again, groan again, lounging across the bench while she looks through the flames. “What do you want to go to school for?”

“MFA,” Honeymaren says. “Get a master’s in film, hopefully get taken seriously. So much happens in these mountains, I want people to see it, to appreciate it. Without necessarily coming here. We don’t need tourists or… big cities, but we do need people outside here to get that people _live_ here.”

Barely containing her envy, Elsa reflects, “You have a bachelor’s degree already.”

True surprise registers on Honeymaren’s face. But she doesn’t push. “Sure thing. I’ve helped out here with Yelena every summer since forever, even during college. This is the first time I committed to a full year staff position. Minus winter, of course, we close in the winter.”

Elsa sighs, leaning forward until her elbows rest on her knees, her chin in her spare hand. Softly, she says, “I would like to go back for a bachelor’s.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, she explains, “I went into school majoring in business, like my parents wanted me to. Then they died in a car crash.”

“I’m so sorry.”

But Elsa shakes her head, accepts the facts like she always has. “I rushed to get an associate’s degree instead, got the best job I could, took Anna on as my ‘ward.’ It’s what needed to be done.” She can feel Honeymaren considering her, but this time it doesn’t feel alarming. Actually, even though she’s certain there’s pity or sympathy there—as there always is in these moments—Elsa can nonetheless feel a warmth beyond the fire, too. And she decides not to shrink from it.

“So you can do anything you want.”

With a turn of her head and a raised brow, Elsa gives Honeymaren a look to beg the question.

“You must know what goes into making a business run, what makes it work,” Honeymaren explains. “With or without an associate’s degree, I mean, you’ve assisted an executive of some kind for long enough to have the know how behind making a living. All you have to do is apply that to whatever interests you, yeah?”

Pausing yet again, Elsa turns back to the fire. “I hadn’t thought of it like that before.”

“Don’t take my word for it. I’m just guessing at what business degrees involve. I clearly did not learn anything on _that_ topic.”

“You sound engrossed with the prospects,” Elsa teases.

“Fascinated.” They giggle together. Honeymaren abruptly stands, considering the fire a moment more. From this angle, Elsa catches sight of holes in her sweater along the seams. Her boots look like they might have been resoled more than once. She catches Elsa looking at her and grins. “Just stretching my back. You finished with your mug?” Without waiting for an answer, she reaches out. Elsa hands over her empty cup and watches Honeymaren take them inside, to the dish pit.

When she returns, Elsa remains seated in front of the diminished, sputtering fire. “I noticed something,” Honeymaren says. She’s leaning over the back of Elsa’s bench again, much closer this time. Close enough that Elsa’s careful about how she turns to look at her.

“What’s that?”

“You get up very early in the morning.” When Elsa doesn’t respond, she continues, “I wondered if maybe you’re feeling shy about the shared washroom? It makes sense, seeing as you’re kinda subbing in as chaperone. Didn’t really sign up for this.”

Elsa just nods, feels herself blushing. Hopefully it’s dark enough that Honeymaren won’t notice.

“I don’t know, it’s just a thought, but if you’re feeling shy, each staff person has their own ‘apartment’ in the lodge. We have our own private bathrooms. You could borrow mine in the mornings, after I’m done, if you wanna get some more sleep. You strike me as shy, and that’s not a bad thing, but I could see this being a hard program to handle in that way.”

In that moment, Elsa’s crush grows enormously. With the fire dying down to embers in front of her, though, all she says is, “Thank you. That’s very generous.”

Honeymaren blows raspberries, scoffing. “It’s not. It’s noticeable, no one has ever done that here. I know we get up wicked early. We want you to be comfortable though, okay?” A hand lightly rests on Elsa’s shoulder. She reaches across her own body, almost lays her own hand on top of Honeymaren’s. But she realizes her reflex and quickly stands. As expected, Honeymaren’s hand abandons her shoulder. “Off to bed, then?”

“Yes, um, I think so,” Elsa says, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, in advance for, that is, thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Honeymaren says, smiling. Adjusting her beanie slightly, she adds, “Go on and get that beauty sleep, I’ll put out the fire.”

As Elsa makes her way back to the ladies’ bunk room, she bites her lip, wondering if she feels eyes on her or imagines it. Thus distracted, she misses the shuffling sounds on the mountainside, just below the lodge’s porch.


	4. Day Four: Wednesday

^*^*^*^

**Day 4: Wednesday**

Noise around the bunk room wakes Elsa up. At first, she thinks she’s overslept and panics, sitting up abruptly when she spots students milling about. Below her, Bulda says, “Good morning, sweetheart! You get a good night’s sleep?”

Processing the statement, Elsa nods, her mind slowly recalling that she slept later for a reason… that eludes her… She finally responds, “I did. Thank you.”

Once Elsa climbs out of her bunk, she remembers—Honeymaren invited her to use her private bathroom. She sighs. Her initial panic has dissipated, but some new anxiety arises as she pulls her toiletries from her bag. Swallowing her fear as best she can, Elsa walks out onto the porch, into the early morning chill. Students shuffle toward the men’s and ladies’ respective washrooms, but the private staff apartments are the other direction. It occurs to her that walking toward the apartments will look peculiar, questionable, yet she knows that walking into that washroom with other people possibly looking at her is _completely_ out of the question.

“Good, you slept in.”

Elsa jumps, spinning on her heel. Honeymaren stands right behind her, but she too starts at Elsa’s surprise. “Honeymaren!”

“Whoa, it’s okay!” she assures Elsa, holding her hands up. Then she gestures over her shoulder and asks, “Coming this way?”

“Oh, yes,” Elsa sighs, letting her jitters settle.

“Might go easy on the coffee today, huh?”

They turn and walk to the apartment together in silence. Once inside the cozy studio, Honeymaren points her toward the bathroom and leaves. Looking around the space as she walks the roughly ten paces to the bathroom, Elsa finds herself strangely calmed by the smell: pine and juniper, fresh sage, and something strangely sweet. As she opens the bathroom door, a slight humidity pours out, warm. She gulps. The idea of another woman in this shower, recently enough that the linoleum underfoot is still warm… lathering soap over— _STOP IT!_ Elsa chases the image from her brain and sets about cleaning herself up as quickly as possible.

Back in the main room, all clean, Elsa hears a knock on the front door. “Uh… hello?”

Honeymaren pokes her head in and asks, “Are we decent?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Honeymaren responds, stepping inside. “Don’t mind me, gotta grab something, but you should hurry get some food.” She smiles kindly Elsa’s way as she steps toward her bed, retrieving an acoustic guitar. “By the way, I’ve got a hair dryer if you want to borrow it.”

“Really?” Elsa asks.

“Yeah, back in the bathroom, under the sink.”

“Thank you!” How did she know that Elsa had been missing one?

She shrugs, doesn’t even look up. “Don’t mention it!”

“No, really, I—” Elsa starts, realizes she’s taken several steps toward Honeymaren right as she and her guitar are about to make an exit. They both freeze, staring at each other, until a moment later when Elsa remembers herself. She turns her gaze toward Honeymaren’s shoes. “Thank you for doing this, I never much cared for a locker room,” she mutters.

“Me neither.”

There’s something about the way Honeymaren says those two words.

Something about it that makes Elsa looks up.

A shared look, possibly meaningful, probably short but maybe not.

And then, Honeymaren leaves, blushing. Maybe.

^*^*^*^

When Elsa enters the lodge’s main room (with dry, braided hair), Bulda and Tyler rush up to her, grabbing her by the arms. “W-What’s going on?”

“We need your help?” Tyler says, seemingly unsure, turning to Bulda for assurances.

The adorably short and squat woman tugs, smiling encouragingly. “Absolutely, no one else will do!” And by ‘encouragingly,’ Elsa assumes the enthusiasm would encourage others. She grounds her heels down against the floor in trepidation, but Bulda and Tyler together overpower her.

They pull her into the circle of staff, students, and chaperones, even as Elsa protests, “But I haven’t got breakfast yet!”

“It’ll take two minutes!” Tyler assures her.

“No one else can sing like you do!” Bulda insists. At this point Elsa realizes they’re pushing her up to the ‘front’ of the circle, toward Kristoff and Honeymaren.

“Wait, sing?!”

Arriving suddenly and wide-eyed in front of Honeymaren and Kristoff, she looks between them for explanation. “It’s the ice-breaker,” Kristoff tells Elsa gently, a little wide-eyed himself.

Honeymaren rests her arms on the guitar slung over her shoulders. “It has three parts. Apparently Kristoff can sing, it’s my job to sing this stuff,” she says. Then motioning to Kristoff and Bulda, she continues, “And they insisted we needed your help.”

Kristoff nods, smiling. “No one sings like Elsa can.”

“In front of people?”

Turning to look at Elsa, both Kristoff and Honeymaren suddenly look nervous. “Is that not okay?” Honeymaren asks.

“I promise, it won’t be for long,” Kristoff assures her. “The students will love it! You have a great voice!”

“How do you even know that?” Elsa asks, tugging nervously on her own braid.

“I mean,” Kristoff grimaces. “I have um… been at the apartment with Anna when, ya know…”

Elsa’s hands reach up to hide her face. She hisses, “You can hear me when I sing in the shower?” Although she feels Honeymaren glance rapidly between Kristoff and herself, she focuses her embarrassment in Kristoff’s direction. “Couldn’t someone else do it?” _Anyone else_ , she thinks, having just arrived from Honeymaren’s shower.

“Sure,” Honeymaren shrugs, still looking back and forth between Kristoff and herself. “Just not Ryder or Yelena. Years ago, we decided that neither of them should ever lead songs, except maybe with a drum or tambourine.”

“Hey!” Ryder objects.

“You can keep a beat, you just can’t carry a tune.”

“And,” Kristoff sighs, “No one else in the group volunteered.”

Looking up at him, Elsa pouts nonetheless. “I didn’t volunteer either.” Before he can respond, though, she sighs. Her face pained already, she mutters, “Let’s just get this over with. What are we singing?”

“It’s easy,” Honeymaren assures her. “‘Wagon Wheel,’ you know it? It’s a mountain song that most people know.”

“You’re the best Els!” Kristoff says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she turns toward the assembled volunteers.

“I know. I’m here, aren’t I?” she grumbles.

In the meantime, Honeymaren gives the students instructions, splitting them into three groups to follow each lead. As she goes over each harmonization with everyone, Elsa slowly looks up from her mortified slouching. Somehow, she would not have guessed that Honeymaren sang alto. Or sang at all, really. She seemed all rough and tumble in coveralls and another ragged beanie. But her voice is clear and warm and full of strange tenderness. When Honeymaren returned to Elsa’s side, practically chipper, Elsa’s heart skips.

Then she realizes that Ryder, at Honeymaren’s opposite side, is watching her with a grin. Their eyes meet. At first, she glances away, then remembers his strange presumptions the day before, and—channeling her little sister—turns back to him with a self-righteous glare. Ryder sheepishly cowers.

Honeymaren leads them into the song with her guitar, and Kristoff and Elsa join in seamlessly. As promised, the students follow their lead and for a moment Elsa can pretend that no one can hear her anyway. But it really is something special, especially so close to Honeymaren’s tender voice.

_“Rock me, Momma, like a wagon wheel! Rock me, Momma, any way you feel! Hey, Momma rock me…_

_“Rock me, Momma, like the wind and the rain! Rock me, Momma, like a south-bound train! Hey! Momma, rock me!”_

As they reach the last chorus—and Honeymaren steps to the center to keep them going through it one more time, getting everyone to clap to the beat—Tyler suddenly jumps into the middle and starts singing something else entirely: “GONNA TAKE MY HORSE TO THE OLD TOWN ROAD! GONNA RIIIIIIDE ‘TIL I CAN’T NO MORE!”

Most unexpectedly, Ryder jumps into the center beside Honeymaren, and they start jumping to the beat and singing enthusiastically with Tyler: “I GOT HORSES IN THE BACK, HORSE TACK IS ATTACHED, HAT IS MATT-IE BLACK, GOT THE BOOTS THAT’S BLACK TO MATCH! RIDIN’ ON A HORSE, YOU CAN WHIP YOUR PORSCHE! I BEEN IN THE VALLEY, YOU AIN’T BEEN UP OFF THAT PORCH NOW!”

As laughter breaks out, several students join in, screaming, “CAN’T NOBODY TELL ME NOTHING!” Elsa laughs, too, strangely delighted. But after a few seconds, she sees a clear route to coffee and food. She rushes forward to breakfast. Before, that is, she can realize that Honeymaren has turned to look for her in the impromptu mosh pit with hopeful brown eyes.

^*^*^*^

Drywall dust. Everywhere.

As Elsa, Tyler, and Jenna suffer through attaching drywall to the ceiling—because, it turns out, _that is a thing_ , a think Elsa had never considered—Honeymaren installs the new bath-and-shower at their home repair site. Meanwhile, the other students watch from the door or through the window, nervously waiting for something dire to occur instead of working on other repairs.

“Can you go any faster?!” Tyler croaks, holding their current sheet of drywall up as Jenna and Elsa, each perched on their own ladder, pass a drill back and forth to screw the sheet in place.

“There’s a lot of pressure in this room!” Jenna fake-shouts at him. The screw she was placing falls, leading to yet another climb down her ladder to retrieve it.

“You’re telling me!” Honeymaren growls, using a wrench on something. Peeking at the door, she says to the other students, “Y’all could be caulking, ya know.”

“Someone needs to take my place!” Tyler whimpers. His arms shake.

“No one else is tall enough!” shouts someone in the crowd outside the bathroom door.

“Don’t you dare drop it!” Honeymaren screams, sounding genuinely afraid. If that drywall falls, it would shatter, presumably shooting dust all over the pipe things that she’s working on.

“Just hold on Ty,” Elsa says. She climbs down her ladder as Jen climbs up hers and repositions the screw and drill. Although Tyler’s significantly taller, Elsa _can_ reach the ceiling. Barely. The boy groans loudly, wringing his wrists, when Elsa takes his place. Turning to the audience, Elsa groans. “Don’t just stand there! Somebody get up that ladder!” Then she closes her eyes, concentrating.

Someone obeys. Below the loud whir of the drill overhead, Elsa hears Honeymaren mumble to herself, “Please, please work you lousy piece of shit.” She gasps, and Elsa opens her eyes. Honeymaren turns the bath knob ever so slightly, and water comes out. Too much water. “No!” she screams.

Water sprays into her face from the knob—not the spout—and even though Tyler rushes forward to shut the water off, Honeymaren drops her wrench on her knee. The water off, Honeymaren bends over her leg. She keeps a shout in her throat by biting her fist tight.

“Whoa!”

“You okay?”

“Honeymaren!” Elsa cries.

The woman in question shakes her head, eventually producing a thumbs up.

Above them all, Jenna shouts ecstatically, “I got it!”

Elsa quirks her brow at the student, dubious. “Are you sure, this time?”

“Yes!”

Carefully, Elsa eases the pressure of her fingers on the drywall sheet overhead. Her arms already feel like jelly. But she feels the drywall start to sag and pushes back up. “Not yes! Not yet!”

In short, it’s a rough day at the work site.

^*^*^*^

Everyone clambers out of Elsa’s van looking worse for wear when they arrive back at the volunteer lodge. Elsa herself shuts her driver’s door, then leans back against it, watching the students go. Some head straight for the wash rooms, others head to the bunk rooms for a nap. Nobody walks down the porch to the main room. Distantly, she hears another car door slam shut. Turning to look, Honeymaren also leans back against her truck, exhausted. She looks Elsa’s way from the corner of her eye, smiles despite obvious fatigue.

“You tired?” she calls.

Elsa nods, says, “Yeah. Yes, I am.” _Now would be a good time to rub all that ‘nothing’ I would have to do in Anna’s face,_ Elsa thinks. Then a strange sound meets her ears. When she looks, Elsa sees that Honeymaren let down the tailgate of her truck and presently—achingly slow—she climbs up into the back of the truck. She collapses on her back, her feet dangling off the edge of the tailgate, making Elsa chuckle a little.

She pushes up, walking over on sore feet, leans against the tailgate. “Room for one more?”

Swinging her arm over her face, Honeymaren nods. With a hup and a tired grunt, Elsa hops onto the tailgate and falls back beside Honeymaren. “Is it always this hard?” she asks.

“No. Yes…” Honeymaren groans. “It’s always… something.” This close, Elsa suddenly remembers that Honeymaren’s accent might be the best thing to have ever met her ears, that these mountains—visible even from the truck bed—might be the best thing she’s ever seen. But every muscle in her body hurts.

Honeymaren continues. “That house was a wreck when we started on it this past spring. Surprised some ass hadn’t called CPS for the little girl by the time we showed up.”

“Hm?”

Shaking her head, still hidden under her arm, Honeymaren explains, “We don’t make it public, it’d fuck up our donations, but we make a point of helping Brown and Black folks in this organization. We help white folks too, but we got enemies. I think I told you?” She peeks out from under her arm, and Elsa nods. “Yeah well, we’d get a lot more of ‘em if we made that plain. No way we were gonna separate an American Indian woman from her grandchild. But what the fuck do the feds even do for people when…”

There’s a sigh. Elsa realizes she’s staring at Honeymaren (again), turns abruptly to look at the bright blue sky, haloed on all sides by autumn leaves on swaying tree branches. “Is that… why you have enemies?”

“That’s another no-yes,” Honeymaren mutters. Suddenly, she lowers her arm, smirking at Elsa. “You can sing!”

“What?” Elsa stammers in response.

“This morning! You have the most amazing voice!”

“It’s—I’m—That is… um, nice of you,” Elsa says, blushing but grimacing. “To say, I mean.”

“Why so embarrassed?” Honeymaren asks gently. Still, Elsa averts her gaze.

“It’s complicated.” How do you explain to someone that you used to sing with your dead mother and… now it’s… hard? How does she explain that? Then she thinks of when she first drove that van up to the house they’re repairing, remembers the little girl hugging her grandmother, a woman who has appeared so _alive_ when that little girl is around and yet so gone without the child. Tears well up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Honeymaren suddenly whispers. When Elsa looks her way, she sees the woman turned on her side, watching her with concern. “Are you okay?”

Dark eyes reel Elsa in. For a split second, she sees the stars and the moon and heavens in those eyes again, leaving Elsa breathless. But how could she ever have those eyes in her life for as long as she wants? They leave Friday. And all she wants to do in this split second is tell Honeymaren _everything._ And hear about Honeymaren’s _everything_. Then give her everything more.

“I’m okay.”

“Whoa.” They both look up. Kristoff stands beside the truck. He throws his arm over the side of the truck bed. “You two okay? You look like it snowed at your work site.”

“It was a disaster zone,” Honeymaren mumbles. Kristoff laughs and leaves. “We _should_ wash up.” Then she nudges Elsa with her shoulder. Softer still, she mumbles, “Remind me, I got a favor to ask of you later.”

Awareness shoots through Elsa. She is presently lying in a truck bed beside her first gay crush. _Probably not the first, actually,_ Elsa points out to herself, suddenly understanding quite a few awkward, inexplicable moments around women during her lifespan. Nonetheless, Honeymaren is definitely her first _conscious_ crush. And she’s less than six inches from her. Nervous, she glances her way, then blinks back surprise: Honeymaren dozes off next to her. Her quiet, steady breath almost feels contagious, as if she could single-handedly heal any anxiety Elsa’s met with.

But it is too cold outside for napping.

“Honeymaren. Wake up,” Elsa instructs, sitting up and shaking her shoulder.

“Hm? What… Was I asleep?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Mhmm,” Elsa hums. “You said you needed to wash up?” She does. Water and drywall dust form a paste, now dried, that paints white streaks over Honeymaren’s face and clothes.

“You do, too,” Honeymaren quips, sitting up with a smirk. “Your hair’s white now, not blonde.”

“Oh,” squeaks Elsa. She anxiously runs her fingers through her hair. “Um, may I…?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Honeymaren immediately assures her, already hopping off the truck. She offers Elsa a hand down, which she accepts, blushing. “You can use my shower.” As they cross the lot to the lodge, Honeymaren asks, “Do you want to go first?”

“I mean, that is,” Elsa starts, trying not to watch Honeymaren too closely as her imagination rushes ahead to sharing a shower. “You should go, you went through a lot with that installation.”

“Yeah,” Honeymaren groans. “But then you’re going to be stuck waiting around my apartment.”

“I-I would have to go get my toiletries anyway, so you should just get started,” she replies, her voice cracking at the end, making her wince at herself. Then Elsa realizes Honeymaren’s stopped beside the stairs up to the porch. She peers intensely through the thick plants growing below the porch, themselves covered in an array of fallen leaves, red, gold, and brown. “Everything okay?”

Although she pauses, Honeymaren eventually agrees. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. I thought I saw something I didn’t.”

^*^*^*^

Elsa sits tight on Honeymaren’s loveseat, her toiletries assembled in her lap. She doesn’t dare move, and even trying to scroll on her phone proves useless. Looking at Anna’s texts and her own subpar reports on the week’s events distract her very little. Instead, disorganized fantasies play out in her mind, listening to the shower run in the next room.

On one hand, she’s thankful for not realizing her preferences sooner, because how could she have ever gotten through the chaos of her and Anna’s lives over the last six years? If she was constantly aware of and distracted by beautiful women? But then on the other hand, perhaps that’s exactly why she hadn’t given much thought to relationships, or—if she’s honest—herself.

The bathroom door swings open. Out steps Honeymaren, a towel wrapped around her torso and another in her hands, gently drying her hair. Very long hair. Long, wavy dark hair that clings to her body, even over the towel. As Elsa blushes furiously, she averts her gaze. Her hand comes up to her mouth, although her instinct is to cover her eyes.

“It’s all yours, Els,” Honeymaren says. “Oh, almost forgot.” She goes back into the bathroom, returns with the blow-drier. “I’ll dry my hair out here so you can get started.”

“Right,” Elsa says, sounding small. She stands up with her toiletries and her towel clutched to her chest. Just then, the front door jiggles. But it’s locked. Elsa’s brow shoots up—she hadn’t realized Honeymaren had locked the door. Turning her way, a deep frown appears on Honeymaren’s face.

“Mare!” It’s Ryder. “Why’s your door locked anyway?”

“So jerks like you learn to knock,” Honeymaren shouts back, crossing her arms and making no move toward the door.

There’s a pause, then a delicate knock. “So there, I knocked. Let me in.”

“What do you want? I’m showering.”

For her part, Elsa freezes. Somehow, she has a feeling that she’s not supposed to be here, either by company policy or by her own sense of being unprepared for any possibility of being ‘out.’ But Honeymaren catches her eye, smiles softly and mouths, “It’s okay.” Then she motions over her shoulder, toward the bathroom.

“Come on, Mare, I need your help! That cultural dance person is on the phone in the office.”

Quietly, Elsa walks to the bathroom, shuts the door behind her. She can still hear Honeymaren and Ryder though, proving the door isn’t as soundproof as she’d hoped. _Better not sing…_

“Why do you need me for an office call?” Honeymaren groans loudly.

“She needs directions for getting here tonight, you know I’m terrible with directions.”

“Well, too bad, I’m fucking _naked!”_

 _Oh my God,_ Elsa gulps. At last she finds the strength to get in the shower, and the water blocks out the sound of siblings squabbling. Still, the last thing Honeymaren said leaves her weaker in the knees than when they got out of the truck bed.

^*^*^*^

Another group activity awaits the volunteers after dinner, and Elsa could not be less enthused. Indeed, a woman has driven in from town, along with a whole bluegrass band, to teach the students songs and dances from the area. Elsa abstains from dancing as a rule, and she certainly does not find learning to square dance intriguing. She sits on one of the couches—moved to the walls to make room for everyone—curled up with her phone, continuing to not text Anna.

To be fair, she does clap after each song, especially when one of the students borrows the band’s fiddle and treats them to a performance. Kristoff sits down next to her during the solo, asks her, “You sure you don’t want to get in on one last dance?”

“Quite,” Elsa says, hiding her phone in her hoodie pocket. Too late, though.

“You chatting with Anna?”

Elsa shrugs, hums in the affirmative. It’s not exactly a lie.

“Then how come she keeps asking me why you’re not talking to her much?” Kristoff asks, smugly pulling out his own cell phone.

She swallows thickly, unsure of how to escape. “I must be tired, uh, and not texting her the things I think to text her…?” _Terrible, Elsa, absolutely terrible._

Kristoff doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t call her out on it aside from a disbelieving facial expression. “Okay.”

“I have stuff on my mind, that’s all!” Elsa insists. “About maybe going back to school.”

“For your bachelors?” he asks, surprised. But he smiles. “That’s great, Elsa! What made you start thinking about it? Last I heard, you were against it.”

“I’m not saying I’m for it yet,” Elsa answers honestly. “Honeymaren mentioned planning to go back for a masters, and it just got me thinking,” she continues quietly, chewing on her lip.

“Oh?” Kristoff looks from her to Honeymaren, dancing in an impromptu circle with students to the tune of the fiddle. “Honeymaren?” Quickly glancing from him to her, Elsa’s heartrate picks up, fearing that she’s already somehow said too much. “Cool,” he says simply. Abruptly, Kristoff stands up, walks toward the bathroom. When he returns quickly, she doesn’t think anything of it. Before she can say anything, though, Ryder bounds over to Elsa and takes a knee in front of her.

“Elsa! Let me express my sincerest apologies through dance!”

“Excuse me?” Elsa begs, hears students around them cheer for her to join the dance. At the far side of the room beside band members, she catches sight of Yelena and Honeymaren each covering their eyes and mouth, respectively. “Wh-What? Wait, no, I don’t dance!”

Ryder’s hearing none of it, already taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. “It’s really simple, I promise!” Students continue to cheer, determined to get Elsa to dance, and she shifts uncomfortably under the attention, blushing furiously and tight-lipped. There’s no escape. “It’s just flat-footing!”

It turns out flat-footing is decidedly _not_ simple. Ryder gets going, hitting his feet against the ground in a pattern that Elsa cannot begin to impersonate. The kids are hollering and joining in—so at least they aren’t looking at her—but it’s hopeless. Embarrassment floods Elsa’s senses as Ryder takes her hands and really tries to show her how to do the dance, spinning her round, dragging her sideways around in a circle. As she trips over her own two feet for the seventy-eleventh time, she hears someone say something behind her: “Are you just gonna stand there and stare at her, or are you going to help the poor woman?”

After what feels like a whole ‘nother circle round the room at a nauseating pace, Ryder suddenly stops. Elsa sees Honeymaren grab his shoulder. “You really _don’t_ know anything about women.” Turning to Elsa, Honeymaren looks concerned as she asks, “You okay?”

“Um, sure,” Elsa lies.

“But I wanted to say sorry!” Ryder pouts to his sister.

Turning back to him with a bitter frown, Honeymaren pokes his chest. “You don’t apologize by doing something _you_ wanna do! You apologize for making someone uncomfortable by making sure they’re _comfortable_.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Come on,” Honeymaren says to Elsa, rests a hand on her shoulder near her neck, her arm nearly wrapping around her back, gently directs her away from the circle. Elsa’s skin sizzles at the touch.

Side by side, they march out onto the porch. A strong gust of wind blows by, though, and each woman wraps her arms around herself against the chill. “This won’t do,” Honeymaren grumbles, eyeing the unlit firepit. Her gaze lands on Elsa, asks, “I’m sorry he did all that. Ryder’s a sweetheart, but alas, he’s an accidental jerk more often than he should be. You wanna sit in my room for a while?”

Elsa nods silently, her jitters slowly easing after that terrifying experience. However, as she follows Honeymaren into her studio once again, her host recalls aloud, “Oh yeah, I had a favor to ask you anyway!”

“Does it involve dancing?” Elsa whines, watching Honeymaren shut—and again, lock—the door.

“No!” Honeymaren laughs, and suddenly they’re face to face. Time slows to a stop in Elsa’s mind at the sight of her. She’s not in coveralls anymore, back in jeans and—instead of a ripped sweater or t-shirt—a button-up shirt with her sleeves rolled up. Her beanie remains, but atop her dark, loose hair. And her dark eyes still have stars in them. Then time catches up to Elsa. Honeymaren tells her, “Over here.”

Leading Elsa to the couch, she sits. Honeymaren opens a tiny closet by the world’s smallest kitchenette, pulls out a camera and what appears to be lighting equipment. Suddenly, Elsa’s nervous again. “Um, what’s going on?”

“My favor,” Honeymaren says, setting things up with remarkably quick fingers. “That is, if you agree, and if not, you can just watch.”

 _WATCH WHAT?!_ Elsa panics internally, all too quick to recall her own vague fantasies from earlier that same night. Then Honeymaren reaches for the guitar on her bed and sits down next to Elsa on the loveseat. Most frightening of all, Honeymaren looks to be blushing.

“So, I make little music videos, covers usually,” she starts explaining, switching her gaze from one of Elsa’s eyes to the other. Like _she’s_ nervous. As for herself, Elsa starts anxiously fiddling with her braid. “It’s actually good film-making practice, and I have to sing and play guitar here for work anyway. But alas, I’ve never had someone I could have sing with me, for harmonies, and my editing is improving so I can harmonize with myself, but there’s this one song I really wanna do straight through, no editing, and I thought maybe you could harmonize with me for that song?”

Her mouth goes dry. Elsa asks best she can, “You want me to sing with you?”

Honeymaren bites her lip, brows up and pleading, nods.

Dancing in front of others definitely embarrassed Elsa more than singing in front of others this morning. And this would only be in front of one person… and whoever saw her videos. But this particular one person is her first real crush.

 _And she’s begging for your help, Elsa, get a grip!_ she shouts at her own brain.

“Okay.”

“Really?” Honeymaren looks truly surprised. Then excited.

 _Oh God, she looks excited_ , Elsa thinks, feels elated and hungry at the thought. And certain she’ll disappoint. Also, shocked that she feels this way at all.

Rushing back over to the equipment, Honeymaren starts speaking, adjusting her tools, and Elsa sits there, struggling to rein herself in while simultaneously not panicking. At long last, Honeymaren sits next to her again with sheets of paper in hand. She tentatively passes them to Elsa. “Do you know this song?”

“Maybe. I know the artist,” Elsa responds, studying the music.

With a giggle, Honeymaren says, “I hope you’ve heard of Hozier.”

“Yes,” Elsa says, smiling. “I only live under one rock, not a boulder.” A tiny burst of pride hits her chest when Honeymaren snickers. “But I haven’t heard this song in years, I think.”

“I’ll play it for you.” Honeymaren pulls out her phone.

After the first verse and chorus, Elsa nods along. “I do know this song. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s enchanting.”

 _Enchanting…_ Elsa agrees mentally, watching Honeymaren and wanting her. She leans forward and hits a button on the camera, followed by the giant light.

“I’m just going to record the whole thing, however many times we mess up,” Honeymaren explains, pivoting in her seat to face Elsa with a grin. “Ready to give it a shot?”

She nods. “I’m verse two? A-and harmonizing the chorus?”

Reaching her hand out to Elsa’s shoulder—near her neck, her thumb nearly grazing her throat—Honeymaren says, “Don’t be nervous.”

Once Elsa takes a deep breath and nods again, smiling this time, Honeymaren brings her hands once again to her guitar. As she picks at each guitar string with her fingertips, Honeymaren transforms, sways slightly with the beat. When she sings, Elsa suddenly feels the strongest tug of her chest yet.

_“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me. A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know. Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.”_

As Elsa prepares to join in, it occurs to her for the first time that this song might not be entirely about death, but also sex. Something about it provokes her whole body. But she stops thinking so hard as she sings, too.

_“We lay here for years or for hours, thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw, so long we become the flowers, two corpses we were, two corpses I saw!_

_“…And they’d find us in a week, when the weather gets hot. After the insects have made their claim, I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you…”_ Nerves don’t arise as Elsa prepares to sing alone. _“I have never known sleep like the slumber that creeps to me. I have never known color like this morning reveals to me…”_

They sing together like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Easy trust, fast smiles, in constant accord. _Isn’t that what the French say? Something about little deaths?_ Elsa ponders. _“And we lay here, for years or for hours, your hand in my hand, so still and discrete. So long, we become the flowers…_

_“And they’d find us in a week, when the buzzards get loud. After the insects have made their claim. After the foxes have known our taste. After the raven has had its say: I’d be home with you. I’d be home with you. I’d be home with you! I’d be home with you! I’d be home with you…”_

When the guitar rings out the final time, Elsa’s sorry to have reached the end of the song. She looks up at Honeymaren, smiles when she spots a warm smirk and delight in her eyes. After a moment, Honeymaren shrugs, breaking the spell. “One take. That was easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hozier y'all.
> 
> I'm just saying.


	5. Day Five: Thursday

^*^*^*^

**Day 5: Thursday**

“We are getting this shit done today!” Honeymaren’s declaration, already triumphant, rings in Elsa’s ears as the team crams into the tiny bathroom. Together they spackle every visible inch of drywall on every wall (and the ceiling). Someone’s blasting exercise music on their cellphone as they race to do the job and do it well. They only have today for this _and_ tiling the floor while Honeymaren does the electrical work, so every second matters. Every single person among them has decided that this room is getting done _today_ , because tomorrow is their last full day and it’s supposed to be a ‘fun day,’ whatever that means.

At lunch time, everyone eats their sandwiches and chips with furious determination, chomping in silence. Everyone finishes their meals in less than ten minutes, ready to work, leaving a small part of Elsa to wonder if, firstly, eating that fast is a common occurrence for college students and, secondly, whether she’d even be up to snuff to study anything again. In any case, they set to work…

“Okay, okay, okay,” Honeymaren chants to herself as she walks into the room for a third ‘walk-through,’ checking the team’s spackling job. Although the room can’t be more than two meters square, she takes her time examining every surface of the walls and ceiling. After what feels like an eternity, she crosses her arms, spins on her heel, and looks to the nine assembled faces in the doorway. Nodding, she says, “It’s good.”

“YES!” Tyler shouts.

Jenna adds, “THAT IS HOW IT’S DONE!”

Elsa and her team jump with joy, high-fiving each other, elated. More than one of them hug Elsa herself, and for once, she doesn’t shove them off or run away.

“Hey hey hey hey!” Honeymaren shouts, clapping _at_ them. Everyone settles—eventually. “We still got floor tiles to glue down!” She claps at the whole team again, shouting still, “Go go go!” With about as much grace as a circus clown, Elsa leads her team back out to the porch—itself not great but at least structurally sound now after some serious work over the days before—to grab tiles and glue. But on her way back, Honeymaren stops her. “Hold up.”

The crew obeys, watching her with confusion.

“I need the _smallest, shortest_ team members for this task.”

It’s the first time Elsa doesn’t get to work with Honeymaren all week, and she’s dejected immediately. As she follows Tyler following other kids out to keep replacing boards in the porch, she can’t help but cast a forlorn glance back into the house.

^*^*^*^

“Why is there sheet cake for dessert?”

Elsa only vaguely hears Kristoff’s question to her side as she fills up her dinner plate. She’s busy imagining spending time with Honeymaren outside of home repair, outside of a strange one-week ‘vacation,’ anywhere in the world with a modicum more privacy and a touch less physical exertion.

“Don’t touch that!” Ryder hisses. She turns in time to see him slap Kristoff’s hand away from a knife. “You don’t just serve yourself uncut sheet cake! It’s obviously for somebody!” He keeps talking, but Elsa turns away from the line, finds herself a place to sit and nudge her bowl of chili with as much disinterest as she had for overhearing that conversation.

Habitually she pulls her phone out from her pocket and sets it beside herself. She reads a few messages from Anna. Yet again, she simply sends emojis in return, which she knows that Anna knows is unlike her. But what else is she supposed to say? It occurs to her that she’ll actually be going home soon, she’ll arrive home in a few days, and Anna will be there. She’ll have questions, and Elsa won’t be able to avoid those questions the way she can any and everybody else here. No one here is even asking—

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Honeymaren?” The woman in question sits beside Elsa heavily before getting any answer. “I thought you ate already? I was at the end of the line.”

She nods. “It’s true, I had my chili.” Glancing down, she adds, “And if you don’t hurry up, I’ll eat yours, too.”

Smirking a little, Elsa says, “Back off.”

Shrugging, Honeymaren digs her hands into her pockets, stretches her back. “I gotta be here for a bit longer.”

“What for?”

Honeymaren doesn’t engage the question. Instead, she leans forward on her elbows, asks Elsa, “What’s your favorite color?”

_Yellow._ “Brown.” _What?_ “Yellow! I meant, yellow!” Elsa’s phone buzzes. She grabs at it, energy suddenly zapping through her. Smiling sheepishly, she looks from the phone to Honeymaren’s curious, tilted head. “It, it’s my sister, be right back,” Elsa explains, spinning round and walking a short distance away. Holding her phone up, she hisses, “Anna?”

“Elsa! Finally! Confirmation that you’re alive and not some mountain serial killer pretending to be you—”

From the corner of her eye, Elsa sees movement. When she turns, she spots Ryder and Yelena marching with the sheet cake toward Honeymaren, candles lit atop it. _No way, no way, oh shit!_ “Anna, can I call you back?”

“—and the mountains and I just—wait, what? No no no, don’t—!”

“I love you, kay? Bye!” Elsa groans at herself for hanging up on her sister, but she’s already whirling round, just in time to see Honeymaren smiling, shaking her head as an enormous sheet cake lands in front of her. Students spot said cake, rush away from their board games and dinners to surround Honeymaren. As Elsa tries to return to her seat, she finds an unsurmountable wall of human beings between her and her destination. Disappointed, she settles for standing, sings along to the birthday song, watches Honeymaren with more want than she has previously seeing as everyone’s looking at _her_ and won’t be bothered to look at Elsa. Bitterly, she thinks of all the basic things she could have packed in a larger bag that would do as an impromptu birthday gift.

The crowd lines up for cake, naturally. By the time Elsa gets to her turn, Honeymaren’s plate is empty and she’s refusing the seconds Yelena offers her. When the elder notices Elsa, she nods simply, drops the plate of cake on the table, and immediately leaves. She even hooks her arm in Ryder’s, steers him away. Honeymaren watches them both go, comments, “That’s weird.” Still, she smiles up at Elsa, offers her the plate. “Want some?”

“God, yes.”

“Ah,” Honeymaren smirks. “A sweet tooth, huh?”

“Hm?” One second later, Elsa sucks in her breath, takes the plate hurriedly. “Oh! Yes! Absolutely. Um… what flavor is it?”

“You’ll have to try it and see.”

Surprise meets her taste buds as she does just that. Elsa hadn’t looked very closely at the cake, so she exclaims, “Carrot cake?!”

Nodding, Honeymaren smirks, saying, “Yep! My favorite!”

“Seriously?” Elsa asks through her next bite.

“Mhmm!” Leaning back even further in her chair, she asks, “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Chocolate.”

“Classic,” Honeymaren nods. “Tough to beat.”

“But it’s not your favorite.”

“No.”

The urge to think of some kind of birthday gift for her. Licking her lips, trying to buy herself time, Elsa asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Guess.” She would have, except at that exact moment, Honeymaren interlaced her fingers behind her head as she leaned back in her chair a touch more. And the chair falls. Honeymaren coughs once, violently, when she lands on the ground.

“Are you all right?!” Elsa asks, quickly kneeling at her side. She only glances around once at the turned heads in the room, but only once.

“Yep,” Honeymaren groans, her voice seemingly gone. She rolls over, holding her stomach. “Just air. Knocked out.” The poor woman curls up around herself, looks like she might cry.

“A-are you sure you’re okay?”

“Aside from embarrassment,” Honeymaren croaks, blushing furiously through a grimace. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“Okay,” Elsa starts, lightly plants her hand on Honeymaren’s shoulder. To her best ability, she tries to ignore how her fingers tingle. “Can I do anything for you?”

Again, she rasps, “Help me up?”

“Right!” Elsa takes Honeymaren’s hands and steers her to her feet. But she remains doubled over, bent at the waist. “Should I… do anything else?”

“I think I should just go for a walk.” Honeymaren takes a few steps, her back unfolding with an extreme lack of speed.

“How about I go with you?” Elsa suggests.

Across the room, she catches Kristoff’s eye. He mouths to her, ‘Is she okay?’

All Elsa can offer in response is a shrug and a shake of her head. Beside herself, she lays her arm across Honeymaren’s back and gently rubs, encouraging her to straighten up as she guides them toward the door outside. “Where do you want to walk?” Elsa asks, expecting her to say her studio.

“This way,” Honeymaren says, sounding a little more herself as she heads for the stairs down to the parking lot.

“Wait!” Elsa orders, grabbing her shoulder more forcefully. She pulls a little, also takes Honeymaren’s hand, bit by bit forcing her to stand upright. When she finally struggles through a deep breath, Elsa nods. “Okay, now we can go down the stairs. Don’t do that, Honeymaren!”

A mumbled, “Sorry,” and Honeymaren abides Elsa helping her down the stairs. Quietly, she leads Elsa across the lot toward her truck at the far end.

Elsa’s mind runs away with her briefly, remembers lying in the back of that truck beside Honeymaren, the sound of her dozing off. _Truck!_

However, Honeymaren simply unlocks the door, leans her upper body over the driver’s seat—leaving Elsa yet again helplessly focused on her ass—and returns with a large flashlight. Ever so slightly disappointed, Elsa follows Honeymaren as she slams the truck door closed and walks around the vehicle.

_Disappointed why?_ Elsa asks herself, rolling her eyes at herself and crossing her arms over her chest, frustrated. _Like you’d do anything!_ She stops alongside Honeymaren, watching her. “What is it?”

“You feel up for a hike?”

Incredulous, Elsa asks, “Where?”

With a simply nod, Honeymaren points Elsa’s gaze to their feet, then turns on her flashlight. At a low angle, the light reveals a thin trail into the woods on the mountain. Elsa gasps softly, able to see the trail carry a long way through the trees, farther than she even thought she _could_ see through these trees and ferns.

“It’s a deer trail,” Honeymaren explains.

^*^*^*^

“The lodge used to be part of a camp, some kind of Christian camp. Probably made plenty of money,” Honeymaren softly whispers as they walk, leaves crunching beneath their feet. “Plenty of Christian groups around Appalachia do what we do, ‘course. Charity house work, I mean. Couldn’t tell you why this one finally threw in the towel, but they did. Went completely bankrupt, I guess.” She snorts, and Elsa can hear her smirking. “After CPS took Ryder and me from our parents, our auntie Yelena—well I say ‘aunt,’ but not actually by blood—”

Just as quietly, Elsa responds, hoping Honeymaren can hear the smile in her own voice, “I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Yeah,” she says, shyly glancing Elsa’s way. When she’s feeling shy, the twang in her accent sticks out more, Elsa notices. “She fought tooth and nail for us. Made sure we knew every day that our parents wanted us, that they _should_ be allowed to raise us.” She sighs heavily. “But the ‘war on drugs’ was declared, police departments round here got loads more money for everyone they accused, and it wasn’t even ‘bout being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” After another sigh, she at last says, “They were just… Native.”

Marching through the undergrowth, seemingly without any need for the flashlight she gave to Elsa when they entered the woods, Honeymaren’s sleeve brushes against Elsa’s knuckles more than once. She wonders if she should take her hand, offer some small comfort. More than anything, she wants to offer comfort. Then again, Honeymaren doesn’t sound terribly upset; she sounds like she needs to talk about it. Like her birthday is charged for whatever reason.

Honeymaren laughs. It sounds teary. _Should have held her hand._

“Anyway, Yelena took us in. Eventually she got the lodge, and she decided she’d take care of people like us for the rest of forever.”

“It’s incredible what she’s done,” Elsa offers. “What you’ve all done together.” At last, she swallows her nerves, reaches for Honeymaren’s hand and—

“We’re nearly here, look!”

“Here?” Elsa asks as Honeymaren points ahead of them, jogs toward shining moonlight through the trees. “We had a destination?” Still, she follows along behind. When she catches up, Honeymaren leads her to the edge of a meadow, full of strange grasses and young trees turning red in autumn. Bright moonlight floods around them, cutting through the mist and reflecting off the healthy plants, seemingly untouched by humanity.

Softer than ever, Honeymaren points through the night, whispers, “Look!”

Following her pointed finger, Elsa spots them up the mountainside, grazing through the meadow. A dozen deer, at least. “They’re enormous!” she whispers back.

“They’re elk,” Honeymaren replies, still quieter, delight in her voice. “Getting their grub on ahead of winter. Let’s wait here a bit.” Elsa turns to Honeymaren smiling, about to say something, but she suddenly realizes how close their faces are to each other. Come to think of it, Honeymaren’s hand rests on Elsa’s shoulder, and it might be tracing down her back. Her eyes glance down to Honeymaren’s lips… “Wait!” Honeymaren urges. She suddenly clasps her hand tight on Elsa’s shoulder, pinching her.

“What? What is it?!”

“Shh!” Honeymaren suddenly wraps her hand over Elsa’s mouth, pulls her back toward the trees. At once, Elsa’s both terrified that maybe she’s about to be murdered (seems a little unlikely as they stand completely still). And she’s also terrified that she can _smell_ Honeymaren: pine, juniper, sage, something strangely sweet. Then, only a second later, it occurs to her to look for whatever startled her guide because suddenly the elk are running across the meadow. Toward them.

Enormous deer, with big sharp antlers, are running right at them.

Honeymaren’s hands grab her shoulders. “Hide!” she instructs. “In the trees!” Both women run back toward the woods, leap behind their own trees, stand stock still as the elk run past them, snorting. Elsa gasps at their size, their incredible height, their ears well above her head (to say nothing of their antlers). Her breath escapes her in stilted, disjointed rhythm once they all pass. Turning, she looks to check on Honeymaren, but her brown-eyed muse looks back toward the meadow, peering through the fog.

“That was lucky,” Elsa says shakily, taking a step toward Honeymaren. But Honeymaren holds both hands up, shakes her head fast, wild eyed. The split-second fear of murder crosses Elsa’s body again. Until she hears it—a bellow of some kind. Immediately, she feels her own face pale. Unblinking, Elsa slowly turns her head toward the sound.

Sniffing around the meadow where the elk had been, there’s a bear.

Because _of fucking course_.

A small whimper echoes in Elsa’s throat. Whether the black bear hears her or smells her, or simply follows the scent of the elk, it nonetheless turns downhill and starts running, barreling toward her. The pace would look leisurely from a distance, but Elsa can see right away that it’s faster than it seems. She stands there, frozen in fright, watching the black bear get so much closer, becoming clearer in the moonlight.

“BAAAAAH!!” Honeymaren suddenly jumps out from the trees, leaping in front of Elsa, roaring. Her arms stretch up above her, holding her jacket overhead.

The bear pulls up, a strange and startled keening coming from its mouth. But it slides downhill across the wet plant life despite itself, far too close for comfort. It groans, nosing in their direction.

Again, Honeymaren screams at it, holding the jacket up like a parachute or a sign, creating a shadow twice her size. She stomps, jumps, kicks at stones underfoot. The bear easily outweighs her—outweighs them both combined—and Elsa cannot move, cannot think, cannot react at all except to stare at the enormous claws on the bear’s paws.

“GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” Honeymaren shouts, hoarse.

Although the bear groans once more, it backs away and finally gallops back up the mountainside. Watching it disappear in the mist, both women remain where they stand, panting. In fact, they stay rooted to their respective spots long enough that the wind blows the mist across the mountain, opening up the star-drenched night sky above them.

“Honeymaren!” Elsa finally finds her voice, launches herself and hugs Honeymaren tight from behind. “Holy shit, are you okay?!”

“A-a-are you okay?” Honeymaren asks, breathless and motionless under Elsa’s grasp.

She spins Honeymaren around, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her for some reason. Her brown eyes even shake when they look up at Elsa. Adrenaline.

“Am I okay?!” Elsa asks incredulously. “Are you serious?!?”

Voice tight, Honeymaren asks in turn, “Is that a no?”

“Honeymaren!” Elsa cries, pulling her into another bone crushing hug. She’s laughing, but she feels tears escaping the corners of her own eyes, too. “Oh my God, you saved us—tw-twice!”

“Hm!” Honeymaren squeaks.

“Take a deep breath,” Elsa encourages her, easing her grip. Looking up at the sky, Elsa does the same. Breath after breath, they slowly calm down together, basking in starlight.

Quietly, Honeymaren strains through a whisper, “I don’t wanna do that again. Please don’t make me do that again.”

“No, never again,” Elsa agrees. Despite herself, she holds Honeymaren’s still-tense face in her hands, lightly rubs her thumbs across her cheekbones, then pulls her back in for a softer hug, allows herself to cradle the back of her hero’s head. “But thank you so much.”

^*^*^*^

“I’m going to have nightmares about bears tonight,” Elsa half-jokes as they climb the stairs to the lodge.

“Sorry—”

“Don’t be!”

“I mean for keeping us out so late,” Honeymaren explains, chuckles nervously. “I didn’t plan on all that.”

“The horses with antlers or the not-getting-eaten-by-a-bear?”

“All of it,” she groans. “Goddamn, I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“You’re telling me,” Elsa agrees.

“I only meant to show you the house.”

“The house?”

“Flea-haunted house,” Honeymaren says, shaking her head. “At the top of that mountain. Silly, I know.”

“Don’t say that, no it wasn’t,” Elsa interrupts. “It was beautiful!” Then she realizes that she’s lingering outside Honeymaren’s door. Truth be told, she doesn’t want to go to the bunk room at all. She tries to self-sooth, pre-emptively wrapping her arms around herself, only to find that her nerves are so thoroughly shot by the wildlife encounters that her anxiety can’t seem to mount her usual level of panic.

“Actually,” Honeymaren groans, hands on her hips. “I thought I saw bear tracks under the porch earlier. I should have known that guy was lurking around the area.”

“What, that specific bear?”

Nodding, Honeymaren says, “Yeah, he’s an older adolescent by now. I didn’t realize how much he’d grown over the summer.”

“Uh huh,” Elsa agrees, eyes falling to Honeymaren’s lips. Saying things… Things Elsa doesn’t really hear. Because she’s too exhausted to be scared right now. Not of something that couldn’t literally kill her, anyway. _What’s so scary about kissing a woman anyway?_ she wonders.

Yawning, Honeymaren quietly says, “We should get to bed. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have taken you out on a hike if I thought I’d seen bear tracks around.”

“Mhmm. Bed.” She leans closer still, slowly looking back and forth from Honeymaren’s eyes to her lips. Though her brow lifts, Honeymaren doesn’t move away. The next thing Elsa knows, she’s less than a breath away from her, and her hands reach up to either side of the brunette’s neck, lightly running her thumbs over the corners of Honeymaren’s jaw.

Quiet as a mouse, she asks, “Elsa?”

If Honeymaren was going to ask anything more, the question’s lost as Elsa barely grazes her lips over hers. Once, twice. The third time, Honeymaren responds, kisses back so softly, yet so much more certain than Elsa’s own trembling lips can muster.

Gasping, Elsa takes several steps backward, completely shocked at herself. For her part, Honeymaren looks exactly as surprised in return. “I… I’m sorry!” Elsa insists. “I-I don’t know why… I didn’t… I’m so sorry!” And she leaves.


	6. Day Six: Friday

^*^*^*^

**Day 6: Friday**

An alarm buzzes. Elsa wakes up groggily, pulls her phone out from under her pillow. She sits up, rubs her forehead. Looking round, everyone else in the bunk room keeps sleeping. Makes sense, seeing as she’s up half an hour early again. After she washes up, leaving the ladies’ washroom when the first students enter, Elsa walks toward the main room. Taking a steadying breath, feeling guilt clench round her heart, she enters.

Quiet. Yelena yawns in the kitchen, heating up food. Lounging on a couch with his phone, Ryder doesn’t immediately look up at Elsa. When he does see her—walking for the coffee maker—he jumps up and power walks over. “Hey!”

“Good morning,” Elsa says quietly. He doesn’t say anything more right away, and she doesn’t watch him, preferring to focus on measuring coffee grounds to brew and think about her terrible, horrible mistake.

As she hugs herself, watching the drip without really seeing it, Ryder works up his nerve. “I’ve done all the wrong things around you this week,” he begins. “And I just want to say, I’m very sorry.” Elsa turns to face him, considers his dark blue eyes, his shoulder-length hair, his apologetic frown. She nods, about all she can muster at the moment.

He looks like he wants to say more, but Elsa utters a simple, “Thank you.” She turns back to the carafe of coffee, fills two mugs and hands one over to him. With both hands, gentle as if she had handed him a bird, he takes the cup. Silently, she walks over to a couch and snuggles into it, takes out her phone.

**To Anna:** _Remind me to talk to you about something when we get home._

She won’t see it for hours—probably. And by then Elsa will be working at the house site, where she has no signal anyway. Eventually, students and chaperones walk in. For once, Elsa starts off the line for breakfast.

Only when Elsa realizes that she’s been staring down at her empty plate for a few minutes does she realize she’s eaten at all. Shaking herself from her daze, Elsa looks around. Kristoff shovels eggs onto his toast, loads it all into his mouth beside her. Jenna and a friend of hers are chatting over their food a couple seats away, too. The whole room is full in fact.

Even though she longs _not_ to see her—at least, the guilty pang in her chest does not—she looks for Honeymaren’s face. The first pass, she doesn’t see her, and the pang grows. Elsa looks round again and this time she spots her. She’s got her cheek bunched up, leaning on her fist, elbow on the table, eyes downcast as she speaks with Ryder. In the farthest possible seat from Elsa.

_Look what you did to her_ , she tells herself. The pang grows again anyway, and Elsa takes her plate to the bus bin, excuses herself outside to the porch with a fresh mug of coffee. From high atop this mountain, she thinks she can see the meadow they visited together.

^*^*^*^

Today’s a bit different, even for the lodge staff. Once a season, volunteers get to use their last day making seasonal decorations for their respective houses. Ryder sets up folding tables in the parking lot for carving pumpkins and making wreaths from dried corn or the abundant fallen leaves all around them. Inside, Yelena leads a team in baking pies—apple, pumpkin, and sweet potato. Meanwhile, she assigns Bulda (and that one other chaperone Elsa never met properly) to overseeing heating up dipping caramel, into which apples are dunked whole. At the dining tables, students create orange-and-black paper chains of bats and pumpkins. Elsa sets herself up at the latter activity, figures she can zone out without much fear that legal adults would be in danger of injuring themselves here.

_Anna would have loved this_ , she thinks vaguely. And if Anna were here with her, Elsa would love it, too. As she would love it this very moment, if she hadn’t done something so…

Elsa snorts, angry at herself. _You don’t just kiss someone out of the blue,_ she chastises herself. _Least of all if you’re not out to her. And she’s a her. And you’re a her, and you only just fucking figured this out at twenty-frickin-four._ She screws her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, slow. Puts down the scissors, lets her forehead rest in that hand instead. Determined to stop herself. For the last three years, she’s worked hard on being kind to herself. Spent a little money on therapy instead of Anna, at Anna’s own request. _Calm down,_ Elsa tells herself. _Focus, breathe. In, two, three, four, hold… Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…_ Ignoring the din around her, Elsa brings her hands to the tops of her thighs, moving her hands over her jeans in rhythm with her counted breaths, pulling herself back to the present moment.

_It’s okay_ , she reminds herself. _You made a mistake._ You _are not the mistake. You can apologize and move on._ Slowly, Elsa opens her eyes. She smiles soft, seeing the long paper-chain she’s created. There’s a shadow on the table that wasn’t there before, though, and when she glances up, Elsa sucks air in through her nose quickly, trying to contain herself.

Honeymaren sits facing her, arms crossed on the table, watching with quiet concern and an upturned brow. She looks so… sad. “You okay?”

“I…”

Much more quietly, Honeymaren leans in and says, “It looked like you were maybe… calming exercises. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Can I get you anything?”

Speechless still, Elsa shakes her head slightly. _Definitely back in the present moment_ , she notes internally. How had she forgotten in her morning daze how beautiful this woman is? And how kind? Then Honeymaren smiles, her eyes bright without judgement; Elsa suddenly cannot blame herself at all for what she did last night. _Even if it was a mistake._

“You sure you wouldn’t like some water? A blanket or something?”

She visibly shivers, but not from the cold. Honeymaren sees it anyway, doesn’t hesitate a second as she takes her own sweater off and holds it aloft over the table. Elsa’s voice finally (barely) returns to her. “H-Honeymaren—”

“Elsa,” she replies firmly, lifting her brow and looking into Elsa’s eyes intently. “It’s okay. You and I are okay.”

Glancing from the sweater to dark brown eyes, Elsa breathes, “I… I’m s—”

“Don’t say it.” Honeymaren’s smile turns down, a perturbed little frown. “I told you, we’re okay. Here.”

“Are… you sure?”

_“Please, Els.”_ Nodding deeply, Honeymaren smiles again. Tentative, Elsa accepts the sweater, looks at it like a precious gem. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Honeymaren says, grinning. “Let’s get some lunch, we gotta deliver these decorations soon.”

^*^*^*^

“Everybody ready?” Elsa asks as she swings their van into the dirt driveway of their house repair site.

A chorus meets her ears: “Yes!” She smirks, shaking her head at how her team’s taken to singing to her.

Once she parks, looks up, Elsa smiles at the sight: The elderly woman sits in her rocking chair on the newly repaired porch. As the students climb out, laughing, the woman slowly stands up, leaning against her porch’s new banister with knuckles swollen from arthritis.

“Y’all did good,” Honeymaren says, walking up beside Elsa from her truck, parked behind them. She turns, sees Honeymaren smirking at her, her arms tucked into her coat pockets. Then Honeymaren rolls her eyes, still smirking, swings her elbow out toward Elsa a little. More than a little surprised, Elsa slowly lays her hand on Honeymaren’s offered forearm, winds her arm through. The sweet gift of her smirk doesn’t falter. “Come on, slowpoke,” Honeymaren says, leads them both forward briskly. “We got decorating to do.”

_We can still be friends,_ Elsa wonders. Relief floods her chest, far greater than Honeymaren’s earlier acceptance.

But they do have a lot to do. Students unveil the pies and caramel apples, and their host delights in them. The woman sits them all down as she tells of all the baking she used to do, how to cook frybread, and tips on growing corn in the most stubborn soil. Unwilling to remove the students from the story-telling, Elsa and Honeymaren pull out ladders to hang the paper chains, as well as a string of orange lights that Honeymaren had stowed away in her truck. By the time that’s done, the younger adults bring their carved pumpkins up to the porch steps, as well as an uncarved pumpkin for the family to carve themselves.

“GRAMMA!”

Perfect timing.

The little girl with dark pigtails and darker eyes jumps off her bus and runs for the house. She giggles loudly as she climbs the stairs, jumping up and down on each sturdy step, then runs to the rocking chair where her grandmother sits. They embrace, laughing, and Elsa hears a sniffle.

Beside her, Jenna teases, “Tyler, pull it together!”

He is the one who sniffled. “Shhh, you’ll ruin it!”

Next thing they know, the little girl runs to her room and returns wearing a homemade deer costume that the students collectively lose their shit over. At the end of it all, everyone takes a seat on the porch stairs for a picture with the little family. A few students (namely Tyler) escort Elsa and Honeymaren to the bathroom for more celebratory pictures of their accomplishments with silly faces. But he also takes pictures of Honeymaren pretending to inspect the caulking from earlier in the week.

(“Actually,” she says with a grimace. “It ain’t pretty but it will work.”)

Through it all, Honeymaren treats Elsa with the same kindness as she had all week. For that chance at redemption, she’s grateful.


	7. Day Seven: Saturday

^*^*^*^

**Day 7: Saturday**

There would be no shower this morning. Everyone had been encouraged to wash up the night before because of the early wake-up call, anyway, and Elsa had been the last one to do so. Insisting on using the shared washroom made for a good excuse to stay up late talking with Honeymaren. And she did insist to Honeymaren that she couldn’t use her private shower again. As she washed, a small, fantastical part of her had hoped that Honeymaren would follow her in. Follow her into the washroom, knowing no one else would come in and interrupt them, and just… something.

But, of course, she never would.

Thank God she forgave Elsa so easily.

She blames Anna and her romcoms for this.

When Elsa’s phone alarm goes off, it’s simultaneous with alarms around the ladies’ bunk room. Below her, Elsa hears Bulda groan. “Elsaaaa,” she moans. “It’s too damn early, sweetheart!”

“I know,” she moans back to Bulda, rubbing her face. Elsa holds her phone above her and witnesses the evidence of her crime. Namely, ignoring Anna. Soooo many texts. She unlocks her phone, sends something quick:

**To Anna:** _Love you, sis. Yesterday was a busy last day, sorry I didn’t get back to you. I have to drive for the next two days, and through mountains so we’ll talk when I get home._

Good enough.

Already grumpy, Elsa scoots over to her bunk’s ladder, careful not to bang her head on the ceiling. She drags her sleeping bag off the bed with her, stuffs it unceremoniously into its case, takes that and her bag with her to the washroom. Aside from a couple night owls, every woman there stands in line for either the toilet or the sink to brush her teeth. Tired though she is, Elsa thinks quickly, goes back out to the porch and marches into the main room. There she finds herself an unoccupied single-stall bathroom to do her business and change in private. And, in private, she can ponder her prematurely broken heart without disturbance. Win-win.

With all that finished, Elsa heads down to the parking lot. (After grabbing a mug of coffee.) As a keeper of her van’s keys, she unlocks her team’s van, tosses her 1.5 bags into the back, and opens the van’s sliding door so she can sit out of the mountains’ mist and breeze while students bring their bags to the van before returning to the lodge for breakfast. In the meantime, she occupies her time by scrolling through apps and sipping coffee. Eventually, the other chaperones do the same with their respective vans. Although, to be fair, Kristoff appears to be checking the route on matching maps he prepared for each of the chaperones.

Only when the sun rises to drape her in its warmth does Elsa realize she put the sweater she’d slept in back on. Honeymaren’s sweater from yesterday. At first, heat rises straight to her face and embarrassment hits her heavy in the chest. She looks up, glancing about, afraid of being _caught_ , which is when she realizes something that makes her heart drop to her stomach.

_Where’s Honeymaren’s truck?_

Not in the lot.

_No… No, no, no!_

Turning to the van, Elsa realizes one or two students still haven’t brought their bags. However, she decides the students are not likely to steal each other’s bags or attempt to hotwire the vehicle at this point. She jogs back toward the lodge, dashes up the stairs, rushes into the main room.

No Honeymaren in sight.

Ryder’s there though. He chomps down on a handful of bacon, once again lounging on a couch. And, like anyone and everyone else, he’s scrolling on his phone. Only Elsa’s unfairly infuriated at him because she can’t determine Honeymaren’s whereabouts. That and his week-long weirdness toward her. As she approaches, Ryder glances up and visibly pales.

“Hey, how’s it—?”

“Have you seen Honeymaren?!”

“Uhhhhh…” If he was paling before, he seems to redden twice as much now. “She… She went to get the wood.”

Elsa’s face screws up in confusion. “What?!”

Ryder sits up straight, looking very much chastised, like he couldn’t be older than oldest students in Elsa’s team. “Uhh, she, once a week Mare takes the truck down to pick up wood to-to-to chop up. For fire. She chops fire. I mean! She chops wood for our firepit and has to stock up. A week. Once.”

Fretting at her own braid, Elsa asks both shyly and urgently, “She… When will she be back?”

“Uuuuhhhhhhhhhh…” Ryder doesn’t answer. He looks like a deer in the headlights. Swallowing thickly, he glances around the room, then leans forward a little. “I thought,” he starts, hushed. “Weren’t y’all… something happened and you didn’t like her after alllllllll not so friendly?”

Her whole body practically vibrates with the emotional whiplash she experiences. Instead of answering whatever she was just subjected to, Elsa demands, “Every Saturday morning?!”

“I mean, every Saturday!” Ryder shrugs, afraid. “Not always morning…” He doesn’t need her to say anything more, though. “I’ll uh… She’ll be back soon. Soonish! P-promise!” Standing suddenly, Ryder rushes into the kitchen with his phone, but not his breakfast.

It occurs to Elsa to be embarrassed. She shrinks a little, remembers that Honeymaren probably told her brother about the unwarranted kiss, probably spoke with him about how best to approach her, be a friendly staff and get through another twenty-four hours with Elsa around. Probably left this morning on an errand to specifically _avoid_ her.

_Fuck… Fuck me!_

Deep breaths, careful counting, deliberate thoughts. Sucking in her lips, Elsa walks away, gets in line for breakfast. Eats. Stands and smiles for Yelena’s taking pictures for their team and for the lodge’s own ‘Wall of Volunteers.’ Refills her coffee, then fills a to-go cup, graciously offered by Yelena.

Completely misses Ryder and Kristoff, hiding in the kitchen, furiously whispering to each other and typing hurriedly into Ryder’s phone.

^*^*^*^

Everyone’s milling about in the lot, debating what vans to get in, even though (Elsa knows) they’ll all get into whichever van they’ve been in all week. Yelena and Ryder stand by the porch stairs, surely waiting for them to leave so they can start cleaning the lodge for the next batch of volunteers arriving tomorrow. Kristoff calls over the chaperones as the students situate themselves. He gives them each a map and unfurls his own on the hood of his van.

“Right, so, you should all remember the route down to the state highway—we’ve all been on it all week. But we’re gonna go north instead of south for about twenty minutes, then turn west here. After an hour, we have a tunnel, so be sure to let your van know in case anyone has sensory concerns…”

Although Elsa listens—truly, she cares about the route and getting on it as soon as possible—she also feels like someone took an ice-cream scoop to her chest. Like her heart rests somewhere between her stomach and her chest, if it’s still beating at all. Like her diaphragm fights for each breath, with the extra weight of saying goodbye to her first _real_ crush without even saying goodbye.

Out of the blue, there’s a sputtering motor sound. Equally suddenly, the pick-up truck chugs over the final hill before dipping down into the parking lot. It is indeed loaded with wood that looks ready for chopping. The truck, chugging smoke, parks so sharply, it almost looks like it hit something. She can’t see the driver side door open and close when she hears it. But Elsa does catch sight of Ryder running over to the driver side of the vehicle, exactly when Kristoff says, “And this part is really important!”

That’s Elsa’s cue to look back at the map. But she’s not listening very closely. Or watching very closely. Her eyes keep glancing toward the truck. And Kristoff’s enormous frame is consistently in the way. At one point, though, Elsa catches Bulda watching _her_ curiously, and she does everything in her power to focus on the map without crying.

“And that’ll be our first day’s drive!” Kristoff concludes, smiling at his team. “Let’s hit the road? Oh, but actually, I’m going to refill this to-go cup with coffee. You should all do the same, follow me.”

Despite herself, Elsa follows the others to do so and, like the other chaperones, hit the bathroom one more time. During the little pre-chaperoning ritual, Elsa finds herself ruminating. Why say goodbye? Why hope for any meaningful last words? She had _so much_ to deal with personally as is, like the fact that she finally had a real crush—on a _woman_ —this late in the game.

When Elsa returns to the porch, reaches the bottom of the stairs to the parking lot, a hand grabs her own and yanks. “Whup!”

Before she knows what happened, Elsa’s standing under the stairs, under the porch, and Honeymaren faces her, holding her wrist.

“Hey!” she groans. Her hand loosens, moves to Elsa’s hand.

“Hi,” Elsa breathes, much more high-pitched than she would ever intend.

Honeymaren’s covered in bark and flecks of wood and even a couple of leaves sticking to her beanie, looking fresh out of breath. “Look,” she starts, blinking rapidly up at Elsa.

She feels herself take a deep breath.

“I don’t want you leaving here,” Honeymaren starts, blinking rapidly, and Elsa looks down at a sensation—she’s holding Elsa’s hand in both of hers, clinging to her, running her thumbs over it. Quickly returning her gaze to Honeymaren’s face, she catches sight of the moment the brown-eyed woman realizes that _she, Elsa, is wearing her sweater_.

Internal screaming.

Softer, Honeymaren says, “I don’t want you leaving here… thinking or feeling that I don’t—”

“Elsa? There you are!”

_NO!_

Kristoff rounds the stairs, sees her, already speaking: “We gotta hit the—” Honeymaren whirls her head round to look at him. Whatever he sees on her face gives him regretful pause. But he keeps fucking talking: “The-the road. Like now, or… we won’t get to our overnight… on time.” And he doesn’t leave. Honeymaren turns back to Elsa.

She looks like a mirror image of Elsa in a way. Biting her lip, sorrowful eyes watering at the edges. Hoping to banish his interruption away, because this moment matters.

_What’s the point?_ Elsa wonders sadly. No voice reaches her throat. She mouths to Honeymaren a simple, sad, ‘Goodbye.’ With nothing more to hope for, she relinquishes Honeymaren’s hand, follows Kristoff blindly into the lot… Bitterly resents that she doesn’t cry, a perfect excuse to pull her van over and not leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaaaah
> 
> I promise a funny, happy ending in part two, it's just not spoopy (or spooky)


End file.
